. 


*  'i 


■  . 


GIFT   OF 
JQhn  H,   Mee 


i 


«j 


• .* 


¥ 


^'«r 


_  « •  ••• 


*.^ 


A" 


THE    COMEDY   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By   H.  DE  BALZAC 


SCENES  FROM   PARISIAN   LIFE 


GOBSECK. 

THE  SECRETS  OF  THE  PRINCESSE  DE  CADIGNAN. 
UNCONSCIOUS   COMEDIANS. 
ANOTHER   STUDY    OF   WOMAN. 
COMEDIES  PLAYED  GRATIS. 


[r-i^C 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 

Already  fublislied: 
PEEE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CESAR  BIROTTEATJ. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 

THE  ALKAHEST  (La  Recherche  del'Absolu). 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 

THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (La  Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employe's). 
SERAPHITA. 

SONS    OF    THE    SOIL   (Les  Paysans). 
FAME    AND    SORROW   (Chat-qui-pelote). 
THE    LILY    OF    THE    VALLEY, 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL   MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A   MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 

A  GREAT   MAN   OF   THE    PROVINCES  IN 

PARIS. 
THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF   CONSOLATION. 
THE    VILLAGE    RECTOR. 
MEMOIRS    OF    TWO     YOUNG    MARRIED 

WOMEN. 
CATHERINE    DE'    MEDICI. 
LUCIEN   DE    RUBEMPRE. 

FERRAGUS,  CHIEF  OF  THE  DEVORANTS. 
A   START    IN    LIFE. 
THE    MARRIAGE    CONTRACT. 
BEATRIX. 

DAUGHTER   OF   EVE. 
THE    GALLERY    OF   ANTIQUITIES. 
GOBSECK.  *__ 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


. 


' 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC 


TRANSLATED     BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


GOBSECK 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 


3     SOMERSET     STREET 


BOSTON 

1896 


Copyright,  1896, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Stnf6«r0ttg  flress: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


To  Monsieur  le  Baron  Barchou  de  Penhoen. 

Among  all  the  pupils  at  Vendome,  we  are,  I  think,  the 
only  ones  who  have  met  again  in  the  career  of  letters  —  we 
who  are  cultivating  philosophy  at  an  age  when  we  ought  to 
be  cultivating  only  the  De   Viris  ! 

Here  is  the  book  which  I  was  making  when  we  met,  and 
you  were  toiling  at  your  noble  work  on  German  philosophy. 
Thus,  neither  of  us  has  missed  his  vocation.  In  seeing 
your  name  here,  you  will  perhaps  feel  as  much  pleasure  as 
the  fact  of  thus  inscribing  it  affords  to 

Your  old  friend  and  schoolmate, 

De  Balzac. 


vy 


96236 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

GOBSECK     1 

THE     SECRETS     OF     THE     PRLNCESSE     DE 

CADIGNAN : 

I.     The  Last  Word  of  two  Great  Coquettes  97 

II.     Daniel  D'Arthez 118 

III.  The  Princess  goes  to  Work 143 

IV.  The  Confession  of  a  Pretty  Woman  .     .  157 
V.     A  Trial  of  Faith »     o     .  176 

UNCONSCIOUS   COMEDIANS 189 

ANOTHER   STUDY   OF   WOMAN: 

The  Salon  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches      .  287 

COMEDIES   PLAYED   GRATIS 351 


; 


GOBSECK. 


At  eleven  o'clock  one  evening,  during  the  winter 
of  1829-1830,  two  persons  who  were  not  members  of 
the  family  were  still  seated  in  the  salon  of  the  Vicom- 
tesse  de  Grandlieu.  One  of  them,  a  young  and  very 
good-looking  man,  took  leave  on  hearing  the  clock 
strike  the  hour.  When  the  sound  of  his  carriage- 
wheels  echoed  from  the  courtyard,  the  viscountess, 
seeing  no  one  present  but  her  brother  and  a  family 
friend  who  were  finishing  their  game  of  piquet,  went 
up  to  her  daughter  as  she  stood  before  the  fireplace, 
apparently  examining  a  fire-screen  of  shaded  porcelain 
while  she  listened  to  the  sound  of  the  same  wheels  in 
a  manner  to  justify  the  mother's  anxiety. 

"Camille,  if  you  continue  to  behave  toward  that 
young  Comte  de  Restaud  as  you  have  done  this  even- 
ing, you  will  oblige  me  to  close  my  doors  to  him. 
Listen  to  me,  my  child;  if  you  have  confidence  in 
my  affection,  let  me  guide  you  in  life.  At  seventeen 
years  of  age,  a  girl  is  unable  to  judge  of  either  the 
future,  or  the  past,  or  of  certain  social  considerations. 

l 


2  G-obseck. 

I  shall  make  only  one  remark  to  you:  Monsieur  de 
Restaud  has  a  mother  who  would  squander  millions, 
—  a  woman  ill-born,  a  Demoiselle  Goriot,  who,  in  her 
youth,  caused  people  to  talk  about  her.  She  behaved 
so  badly  to  her  father  that  she  does  not  deserve  to 
have  so  good  a  son.  The  young  count  adores  her, 
and  stands  by  her  with  a  filial  piety  which  is  worthy 
of  all  praise;  he  also  takes  the  utmost  care  of  his 
brother  and  sister.  However  admirable  such  conduct 
maybe,"  continued  the  viscountess,  in  a  pointed  man- 
ner, "so  long  as  the  mother  lives,  all  parents  would 
fear  to  trust  the  future  and  the  fortune  of  a  daughter 
to  young  Restaud." 

"I  have  overheard  a  few  words  which  make  me 
desirous  of  intervening  between  you  and  Mademoi- 
selle de  Grandlieu,"  said  the  friend  of  the  family, 
suddenly.  "I've  won,  Monsieur  le  comte,"he  said, 
turning  to  his  adversary.  "I  leave  you  now  and  rush 
to  the  succor  of  your  niece." 

"This  is  what  is  called  having  lawyer's  ears," 
cried  the  viscountess.  "My  dear  Derville,  how  could 
you  overhear  what  I  was  saying  in  a  low  voice  to 
Camille?" 

"I  saw  your  look  and  understood  it,"  replied 
Derville,  sitting  down  on  a  sofa  at  the  corner  of  the 
fireplace. 

The  uncle  took  a  seat  beside  his  niece,  and  Madame 


GohsecJc.  3 

de  Grandlieu  placed  herself  on  a  low  chair  between 
her  daughter  and  Derville. 

1  'It  is  high  time,  Madame  la  vicomtesse,  that  I 
should  tell  you  a  little  tale  which  will  modify  the 
opinion  you  have  formed  as  to  the  fortunes  of  Comte 
Ernest  de  Restaud." 

" A  tale!"  cried  Cam ille.  "Begin  it,  quick!  mon- 
sieur. " 

Derville  cast  a  look  at  Madame  de  Grandlieu  which 
signified  that  the  story  he  was  about  to  tell  would 
interest  her. 

The  Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu,  by  her  fortune  and 
the  antiquity  of  her  name,  was  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished women  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  and 
it  may  not  seem  natural  that  a  Parisian  lawyer  should 
speak  to  her  familiarly,  and  treat  her  in  a  manner  so 
apparently  cavalier;  but  the  phenomenon  is  easily 
explained.  Madame  de  Grandlieu,  who  returned  to 
France  with  the  royal  family,  came  to  reside  in  Paris, 
where  she  lived,  at  first,  on  a  stipend  granted  by 
Louis  XVIII.  from  the  Civil  List,  —  a  situation  that 
was  quite  intolerable.  Derville,  the  lawyer,  chanced 
to  discover  certain  legal  blunders  in  the  sale  which 
the  Republic  had  made  of  the  hotel  de  Grandlieu,  and 
he  asserted  that  it  ought  to  be  restored  to  the  vis- 
countess. He  undertook  the  case  for  a  certain  fee, 
and  won  it.     Encouraged  by  this  success,  he  sued  a 


4  Gobseck. 

fraternity  of  monks,  and  harassed  them  legally,  until 
he  obtained  the  restitution  of  the  forest  of  Liceney. 
He  also  recovered  a  number  of  shares  in  the  Orleans 
canal,  and  certain  parcels  of  real  estate  with  which 
the  Emperor  had  endowed  a  few  public  institutions. 

In  this  way  the   fortune  of  Madame  de  Grandlieu, 
restored  to  her  by  the  care  and  ability  of  the  young 
lawyer,   amounted   to   an    income   of   sixty   thousand 
francs    a   year,    before   the  law  of   indemnity  (which 
restored  to  her  enormous  sums   of  money)  had  been 
passed.     A  man  of  the  highest  honor,  learned,  modest, 
and  excellent  company,    he   became,    henceforth,   the 
"  friend   of    the    family."     Though    his    conduct    to 
Madame  de  Grandlieu  had  won  him  the  respect  and 
the  business  of  the  best  houses  of  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Germain,  he  never  profited  by  that  favor  as  a  more 
ambitious  man  would  have  done.     He  resisted  the  pro- 
posals of  the  viscountess  to  sell  his  practice  and  enter 
the  magistracy,  a  career  in  which,  thanks  to  her  influ- 
ence, he  would  certainly  have  obtained  a  very  rapid 
advancement.     With   the   exception  of   the   hotel   de 
Grandlieu,  where  he  sometimes  passed  an  evening,  he 
never  went  into  society  unless  to  keep  up  his  connec- 
tions.    It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  his  talents  had 
been  brought  to  light  by  his  devotion  to  the  interests 
of  Madame  de  Grandlieu,  otherwise  he  would   have 
run  the  risk  of  losing  his  practice  altogether.     Derville 
had  not  the  soul  of  a  pettifogger. 


t  G-obseck.  5 

Ever  since  Comte  Ernest  de  Restaud  had  been  re- 
ceived in  Madame  de  Grandlieu's  salon  and  Derville 
had  discovered  Carnille's  sympathy  for  the  young  man, 
he  had  become  as  assiduous  in  his  own  visits  as  any 
dandy  of  the  Chaussee-d'Antin  newly  admitted  to  the 
circles  of  the  noble  faubourg.  A  few  days  before 
the  evening  on  which  our  story  opens,  he  was  standing 
near  Camille  at  a  ball  when  he  said  to  her,  motioning 
to  the  young  count :  — 

"Isn't  it  a  pity  that  young  fellow  hasn't  two  or 
three  millions?  " 

"Do  you  call  it  a  pity?  I  don't  think  so,"  she 
answered.  "Monsieur  de  Restaud  has  great  talent, 
he  is  well-educated,  and  the  minister  with  whom  he  is 
placed  thinks  highly  of  him.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will 
become  a  very  remarkable  man.  Such  a  young  fellow 
will  find  all  the  fortune  he  wants  whenever  he  comes 
to  power." 

"Yes,  but  suppose  he  were  rich  now?" 

"Suppose  he  were  rich?"  echoed  Camille,  coloring. 
"Oh!  then  all  the  girls  in  society  would  be  quarrelling 
for  him,"  she  added,  with  a  nod  at  the  quadrilles. 

"And  then,  perhaps,"  said  the  lawyer,  slyly,  "Made- 
moiselle de  Grandlieu  would  not  be  the  only  one  on 
whom  his  eyes  would  turn.  Why  do  you  blush  ?  You 
have  a  liking  for   him,  have  n't  you?    Come,  tell  me." 

Camille  rose  hastily. 


6  Gobseck. 

"  She  loves  him, "  thought  Derville. 

Since  that  evening  Camille  had  shown  the  lawyer 
very  unusual  attentions,  perceiving  that  he  approved 
of  her  inclination  for  the  young  count.  Until  then, 
although  she  was  not  ignorant  of  the  many  obliga- 
tions of  her  family  to  Derville,  she  had  always  shown 
him  more  courtesy  than  real  friendship,  more  civility 
than  feelings  her  manners,  and  also  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  had  let  him  know  the  distance  that  conventions 
placed  between  them.  Gratitude  is  a  debt  which 
children  will  not  always  accept  as  part  of  their  inher- 
itance. 

"This  affair,"  said  Derville  to  the  viscountess,  on 
the  evening  when  our  story  opens,  "recalls  to  me  the 
only  romantic  circumstances  of  my  life  —  You  are 
laughing  already,"  he  said,  interrupting  himself,  "at 
the  idea  of  a  lawyer  talking  of  romance.  But  I  have 
been  twenty-five  years  of  age  as  well  as  others;  and 
by  that  time  of  life  I  had  already  seen  very  strange 
things.  I  shall  begin  by  telling  you  about  a  person- 
age whom  you  can  never  know,  —  a  usurer.  Imagine 
vividly  that  pale,  wan  visage,  to  which  I  wish  the 
Academy  would  allow  me  to  apply  the  word  ;  moon- 
faced;' it  looked  like  tarnished  silver.  My  usurer's 
hair  was  flat,  carefully  combed,  and  sandy-gray  in 
color.  The  features  of  his  face,  impassible  as  that  of 
Talleyrand,  had  apparently  been  cast  in  iron.     His 


Gobseck.  7 

little  eyes,  yellow  as  those  of  a  weasel,  had  scarcely 
any  lashes  and  seemed  to  fear  the  light ;  but  the  peak 
of  an  old  cap  protected  them.  His  pointed  nose  was 
so  pockmarked  about  the  tip  that  you  might  have 
compared  it  to  a  gimlet.  He  had  the  thin  lips  of  those 
little  old  men  and  alchemists  painted  by  Rembrandt 
or  Metzu.  The  man  spoke  low,  in  a  gentle  voice, 
and  was  never  angry.  His  age  was  a  problem:  it 
was  impossible  to  say  whether  he  was  old  before  his 
time,  or  whether  he  so  spared  his  youth  that  it  lasted 
him  forever. 

"All  things  in  his  room  were  clean  and  shabby, 
resembling,  from  the  green  cover  of  the  desk  to  the 
bedside  carpet,  the  frigid  sanctum  of  old  maids  who 
spend  their  days  in  rubbing  their  furniture.  (^  In  win- 
ter, the  embers  on  his  hearth,  buried  beneath  a  heap  of 
ashes,  smoked,  but  never  blazed.N  His  actions,  from 
the  hour  of  his  rising  to  his  evening  fits  of  coughing, 
were  subjected  to  the  regularity  of  clock-work.  He 
was  in  some  respects  an  automaton,  whom  sleep 
wound  up.  If  you  touch  a  beetle  crossing  a  piece  of 
paper,  it  will  stop  and  feign  to  be  dead ;  just  so  this 
man  would  interrupt  his  speech  if  a  carriage  passed, 
in  order  not  to  force  his  voice*  Imitating  Fontenelle, 
he  economized  the  vital  movement  and  concentrated 
all  human  sentiments  upon  the  I.  Consequently,  his 
life  flowed  on  without  producing  more  noise  than  the 


8  Gfobseck. 

sand  of  an  ancient  hour-glass.  Occasionally,  bis  vic- 
tims made  great  outcries,  and  were  furious ;  after  which 
a  dead  silence  fell,  as  in  kitchens  after  a  duck's  neck 
is  wrung. 

"Towards  evening  the  man-of -notes  became  an 
ordinary  mortal;  his  metals  were  transformed  into  a 
human  heart.  If  he  was  satisfied  with  his  day  he 
rubbed  his  hands,  and  from  the  chinks  and  wrinkles 
of  his  face  a  vapor  of  gayety  exhaled,  —  for  it  is 
impossible  to  otherwise  describe  the  silent  play  of  his 
muscles,  where  a  sensation,  like  the  noiseless  laugh  of 
Leather-Stocking,  seemed  to  lie.  In  his  moments  of 
greatest  joy  his  words  were  always  monosyllabic,  and 
the  expression  of  his  countenance  invariably  negative. 

"Such  was  the  neighbor  whom  chance  bestowed 
upon  me  at  a  house  where  I  was  living,  in  the  rue  des 
Gres,  when  I  was  still  a  second  clerk  and  had  only  just 
finished  my  third  year  in  the  Law-school.  This  house, 
which  has  no  courtyard,  is  damp  and  gloomy.  The 
rooms  get  no  light  except  from  the  street.  The  clois- 
tral arrangement  which  divides  the  building  into 
rooms  of  equal  size,  with  no  issue  but  a  long  corridor 
lighted  from  above,  shows  that  the  house  was  formerly 
part  of  a  convent.  At  this  sad  aspect  the  gayety  of 
even  a  dashing  young  blood  would  die  away  as  he 
entered  the  usurer's  abode.  The  man  and  his  house 
resembled  each  other,  like  the  rock  and  its  barnacle. 


GobsecJc.  9 

"The  only  being  with  whom  he  held  communication, 
socially  speaking,  was  myself.  He  came  to  my  room, 
sometimes,  to  ask  for  tinder,  or  to  borrow  a  book  or  a 
newspaper,  and  at  night  he  allowed  me  to  enter  his 
cell,  where  we  talked  if  he  happened  to  be  good- 
humored.  These  marks  of  confidence  were  the  results 
of  four  years'  vicinity  and  my  virtuous  conduct, 
which,  for  want  of  money,  very  closely  resembled  his 
own.  Had  he  relations,  or  friends?  Was  he  rich  or 
poor?  No  one  could  have  answered  those  questions. 
During  these  years  I  never  saw  any  money  in  his  pos- 
session. His  wealth  was  no  doubt  in  the  cellars  of 
the  Bank  of  France.  He  collected  his  notes  himself, 
racing  through  Paris  on  legs  as  sinewy  as  those  of  a 
deer.  He  was  a  martyr  to  his  caution.  One  day,  by 
accident,  he  showed  a  bit  of  gold:  a  double  napoleon 
made  its  escape,  heaven  knows  how!  through  his 
waistcoat  pocket;  another  tenant,  who  was  following 
him  up  the  staircase,  picked  it  up  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"  'That  is  not  mine,'  he  answered,  with  a  gesture 
of  surprise.  'Do  you  suppose  that  I  have  money? 
Should  I  live  as  I  do  if  I  were  rich?  ' 

"In  the  mornings  he  made  his  own  coffee  on  a  tin 
heater  which  always  stood  in  the  dingy  corner  of  his 
fireplace.  His  dinner  was  brought  from  a  cookshop. 
Our  old  portress  went  up  at  a  fixed  hour  and  put  his 
room    in   order.     And,   to   cap  all,    by   a   singularity 


10  Gobseck. 

which  Sterne  would  have  called  predestination,  the 
man  was  named  Gobseck. 

"Later,  when  I  managed  his  affairs,  I  discovered 
that  when  we  first  knew  each  other  he  was  sixty-six 
years  old.  He  was  born  about  1740,  in  the  suburbs 
of  Antwerp,  of  a  Dutchman  and  a  Jewess;  his  name 
was  Jean-Esther  van  Gobseck.  You  remember,  of 
course,  how  all  Paris  was  excited  about  the  murder 
of  a  woman  called  La  belle  Hollanclaise  ?  When  I 
chanced  to  speak  of  it  to  my  neighbor,  he  said,  with- 
out expressing  the  slightest  interest  or  surprise:  — 

"  '  That  was  my  great-niece. ' 

"  He  made  no  other  comment  on  the  death  of  his 
only  known  heir,  the  granddaughter  of  his  sister. 
From  the  newspapers  I  learned  that  La  belle  Hollan- 
daise  was  called  Sarah  van  Gobseck.  When  I  asked 
him  by  what  strange  chance  his  great-niece  bore  his 
name,  he  replied,  with  a  smile:  — 

"  '  The  women  of  our  family  never  marry. ' 

"  This  singular  man  had  always  refused,  through 
four  generations,  to  know,  or  even  see,  a  single  female 
member  of  his  family.  He  abhorred  his  heirs,  and 
could  not  conceive  that  his  wealth  would  ever  be  pos- 
sessed by  others,  even  after  his  death.  His  mother 
had  despatched  him  as  cabin-boy,  when  ten  years  old, 
to  the  Dutch  possessions  in  India,  where  he  had  lived 
as  he  could  for  twenty  years.     The  wrinkles  of  his 


Gulscclc.  11 

yellow  forehead  covered  the  secrets  of  horrible  even;-, 
awful  terrors,  unhoped-for  luck,  romantic  disappoint- 
ment,   and    infinite   joys;    also    there    were    signs    of 

hunger  endured,  love  trodden  underfoot,  fortune  com- 
promised, lost,  and  refound.  life  many  a  time  in  danger, 
and  saved,  perhaps,  by  sudden  decisions,  the  urgency 
for  which  excuses  cruelty.  He  had  known  Monsieur 
de  Lallv.  Admiral  Simeuse.  Monsieur  de  Kergarouet, 
Monsieur  d'Esiaing.  the  Bailli  de  Suffren.  Monsieur 
de  Portenduere,  Lord  Cornwallis,  Lord  Hastings,  the 
father  of  Tippu  Sahib,  and  Tippu  Sahib  himself;  for 
this  Savoyard,  who  had  served  the  King  of  Delhi,  and 
contributed  not  a  little  to  found  the  power  of  the 
Mahrattas,  had  done  business  with  him.  He  also  had 
dealings  with  Victor  Hughes,  and  several  other  famous 
corsairs,  for  he  lived  for  a  long  time  on  the  island  of 
Saint  Thomas.  He  had  attempted  so  many  things  in 
quest  of  fortune  that  he  even  tried  to  discover  the 
_  Id  of  that  tribe  of  savages  so  celebrated  nearBuen<  - 
Ayres.  He  was  not  a  stranger  to  anv  of  the  meat 
events  of  the  war  of  American  Independence.  But 
when  bespoke  of  India  or  America,  which  he  never  did 
with  others,  and  rarely  with  me.  he  seemed  to  think  he 
had  committed  an  indiscretion,  and  regretted  it. 

"If  humanity,  if  social  fellowship,  are  a  religion,  he 
must  be  considered  an  atheist.  Though  I  set  myself 
to  examine  him.  I  must  admit,  to  mv  confusion,  that 


12  Gobseck. 

up  to  the  very  last  moment  his  heart  was  impenetrable 
to  me.  I  sometimes  asked  myself  to  what  sex  he 
belonged.  If  all  usurers  resemble  him,  I  believe  they 
form  a  neutral  species.  Was  he  faithful  to  the  religion 
of  his  mother,  and  did  he  look  upon  all  Christians 
as  his  prey?  Had  he  made  himself  a  Catholic,  a 
Mohammedan,  a  Brahman,  a  Lutheran  ?  I  never  knew 
his  religious  opinions,  but  he  seemed  to  me  more 
indifferent  than  sceptical. 

"One  evening  I  entered  the  room  of  this  man 
transmuted  to  gold,  whom  his  victims  (he  called  them 
clients)  addressed  either  in  jest  or  satire  as  '  Papa 
Gobseck.'  I  found  him  in  his  armchair,  motionless 
as  a  statue,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  mantel  of  the  fire- 
place, on  which  he  seemed  to  be  scanning  memoranda 
of  accounts.  A  smoky  lamp  cast  out  a  gleam  which, 
far  from  coloring  his  face,  brought  out  its  pallor.  He 
looked  at  me  silently,  and  pointed  to  the  chair  which 
awaited  me.  4  Of  what  is  this  strange  being  think- 
ing? '  I  said  to  myself.  4  Does  he  know  that  God 
exists?  that  there  are  feelings,  women,  happiness?' 
I  pitied  him  as  1  pity  a  sick  man.  And  yet  I  also 
understood  that  he  possessed  by  thought  the  earth  he 
had  travelled  over,  dug  into,  weighed,  sifted,  and 
worked. 

"  '  Good-evening,  papa  Gobseck,'  I  said. 

"  He  turned  his  head  in   my   direction,  his   thick 


Gobseck.  13 

black  eyebrows  slightly  contracting;  in  him  that 
peculiar  movement  was  equivalent  to  the  gayest  smile 
of  a  Southerner. 

"  c  You  seem  as  gloomy,'  I  continued,  '  as  you  were 
the  clay  you  heard  of  the  bankruptcy  of  that  publisher 
whose  cleverness  you  have  always  admired,  though 
you  were  made  its  victim.' 

"  '  Victim?  '  he  said,  in  a  surprised  tone. 

"'  Didn't  he,  in  order  to  obtain  his  certificate  of 
insolvency,  pay  up  your  account  with  notes  subject  to 
the  settlement  in  bankruptcy,  and  when  the  business 
was  re-established  didn't  those  notes  come  under  the 
reduction  named  in  that  settlement?  ' 

"  '  He  was  shrewd,'  replied  the  old  man,  '  but  I 
nipped  him  back.' 

"  '  Perhaps  you  hold  a  few  protested  notes?  —  this 
is  the  thirtieth  of  the  month,  you  know.' 

"I  had  never  before  mentioned  money  to  him.  He 
raised  his  eyes  to  me,  satirically ;  then,  in  his  softest 
voice,  the  tones  of  which  were  like  the  sounds  a  pupil 
draws  from  his  flute  when  he  has  no  mouthpiece,  he 
said :  — 

"  '  I  am  amusing  myself.' 

Then  you  do  find  amusement  sometimes? ' 
Do  you  think  there  are  no  poets  but  those  who 
scribble  verses?'  he  asked,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
and  casting  a  look  of  pity  on  me. 


V 


14  Gobseck. 

"'Poesy  in  that  head!  '  I  thought  to  myself;  for  at 
that  time  I  knew  nothing  of  his  life. 

k4  '  What  existence  is  there  as  brilliant  as  mine?  '  he 
continued,  and  his  eyes  brightened.  ;  You  are  young ; 
you  have  the  ideas  of  your  blood;  you  see  faces  of 
women  in  your  embers,  I  see  nothing  but  coals  in 
mine.  You  believe  in  everything,  I  believe  in  noth- 
ing. Keep  your  illusions,  if  you  can.  I  am  going  to 
reckon  up  life  to  you.  Whether  you  travel  about  the 
world,  or  whether  you  stay  in  your  chimney-corner 
with  a  wife,  there  comes  an  age  when  life  is  nothing 
more  than  a  habit,  practised  in  some  preferred  spot. 
Happiness  then  consists  in  the  exercise  of  our  facul- 
ties applied  to  real  objects.  Outside  of  those  two 
precepts  all  else  is  false.  My  principles  have  varied 
like  those  of  other  men;  I  have  changed  with  each 
latitude  in  which  I  lived.  What  Europe  admires,  Asia 
punishes.  A  vice  in  Paris  is  a  necessity  after  you 
pass  the  Azores.  Nothing  is  a  fixed  fact  here  below; 
conventions  alone  exist,  and  those  are  modified  by 
climate.  To  one  who  has  flung  himself  forcibly  into 
every  social  mould,  convictions  and  moralities  are 
nothing  more  than  words  without  weight.  There  re- 
mains within  us  but  the  one  true  sentiment  which 
Nature  implanted  there;  namely,  the  instinct  of  pres- 
ervation. In  European  societies  this  instinct  is  called 
self-interest.     If  you  had  lived  as  long  as  I  have,  you 


Gobseck.  15 

would  know  that  there  is  but  one  material  thing  the 
value  of  which  is  sufficiently  certain  to  be  worth  a 
man's  while  to  care  for  it.  That  thing  is  —  Gold. 
Gold  represents  all  human  forces.  I  have  travelled;  I 
have  seen  in  all  lands  plains  and  mountains:  plains 
are  tiresome,  mountains  fatiguing ;  hence,  places  and 
regions  signify  nothing.  As  for  customs  and  morals, 
man  is  the  same  everywhere;  everywhere  the  struggle 
between  wealth  and  poverty  exists ;  everywhere  it  is 
inevitable.  Better,  therefore,  to  be  the  one  to  take 
advantage,  than  the  one  to  be  taken  advantage  of. 
Everywhere  you  will  find  muscular  folk  who  work 
their  way,  and  lymphatic  folk  who  fret  and  worry. 
Everywhere  pleasures  are  the  same;  for  all  emotions 
are  exhausted,  and  nothing  survives  of  them  but  the 
single  sentiment  of  vanity.  Vanity  is  always  I. 
Vanity  is  never  truly  satisfied  except  by  floods  of 
gold.  Desires  need  time,  or  physical  means,  or  care. 
Well!  gold  contains  all  those  things  in  the  germ,  and 
will  give  them  in  reality.  None  but  fools  or  sick  men 
can  find  pleasure  in  playing  cards  every  night  to  see 
if  they  can  win  a  few  francs.  None  but  fools  can 
spend  their  time  in  asking  each  other  what  happens, 
and  whether  Madame  So-and-so  occupies  her  sofa 
alone  or  in  company,  or  whether  she  has  more  blood 
than  lymph,  more  ardor  than  virtue.  None  but  dupes 
can  think  themselves  useful  to  their  fellow-men,  by 


16  Gobseck. 

laying  down  political  principles  to  govern  events 
which  are  still  unforeseen.  None  but  ninnies  can  like 
to  go  through  the  same  routine,  pacing  up  and  down 
like  animals  in  a  cage;  dressing  for  others,  eating  for 
others,  glorifying  themselves  about  a  horse  or  a  car- 
riage which  their  neighbor  can't  copy  for  at  least 
three  days!  Isn't  that  the  life  of  your  Parisians, 
reduced  to  a  few  sentences?  Let  us  look  at  life  on 
a  higher  plane.  There,  happiness  consists  either  in 
strong  emotions  which  wear  out  life,  or  in  regular 
occupations  worked,  as  it  were,  by  mechanism  at 
stated  times.  Above  these  forms  of  happiness  there 
exists  the  curiosity  (said  to  be  noble)  of  knowing  the 
secrets  of  Nature,  or  of  producing  a  certain  imitation 
of  her  effects.  Is  n't  that,  in  two  words,  art  or  knowl- 
edge, passion  or  tranquillity?  Well!  all  human  pas- 
sions, heightened  by  the  play  of  social  interests, 
parade  before  me,  who  live  in  tranquillity.  As  for 
your  scientific  curiosity,  —  a  sort  of  combat  in  which 
man  is  always  worsted!  —  I  substitute  for  that  a  pene- 
tration into  the  secret  springs  that  move  humanity. 
In  a  word,  I  possess  the  world  without  fatigue,  and 
the  world  has  not  the  slightest  hold  upon  me. 
Listen  to  me,'  he  continued.  '  I  will  tell  you  the 
events  of  my  morning,  and  you  can  judge  by  them  of 
my  pleasures.' 

u  He  rose,  went  to  the  door  and  bolted  it,  drew  a 


GobsecJc.  17 

curtain  of  old  tapestry,  the  brass  rings  grinding  on 
the  rod,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  '  This  morning,'  he  said,  '  I  had  only  two  notes  to 
collect;  the  others  I  had  given  last  evening  to  clients 
in  place  of  ready  money.  So  much  made,  you  know ! 
for  in  discounting  them  I  deduct  the  cost  of  collec- 
tion,  taking  forty  sous  for  a  street  cab.  A  pretty 
thing  it  would  be  if  a  client  made  me  cross  all  Paris 
for  six  francs  discount,  —  I,  who  am  under  bonds  to 
no  one !  —  I,  who  pay  no  more  than  seven  francs  in 
taxes!  Well,  the  first  note,  for  a  thousand  francs, 
presented  by  a  young  man,  a  dashing  fellow,  with  a 
spangled  waistcoat,  eyeglass,  tilbury,  English  horse, 
etc.,  wras  signed  by  one  of  the  prettiest  women  in 
Paris,  married  to  a  rich  man, —  a  count.  Why  should 
this  countess  have  signed  that  note  (void  in  law  but 
excellent  in  fact)  ?  For  such  poor  women  fear  the 
scandal  which  a  protested  note  would  cause  in  their 
homes;  they'll  even  sell  themselves  rather  than  not 
take  up  the  note.  I  wanted  to  know  the  secret  value 
of  that  paper.  Was  it  folly,  imprudence,  love,  or 
charity  ?  The  second  note,  also  for  a  thousand  francs, 
signed  "Jenny  Malvaut,"  was  presented  to  me  by  a 
linen-draper  in  a  fair  way  to  be  ruined.  No  person 
having  credit  at  the  Bank  ever  comes  to  me;  the  first 
step  taken  from  my  door  to  my  desk  means  despair, 
bankruptcy  on  the  verge  of  discovery,  and,  above  all, 

2 


18  Gobseck. 

the  refusal  of  aid  from  many  bankers.  That 's  how  it 
is  that  I  see  none  but  stags  at  bay,  hunted  by  the  pack 
of  their  creditors.  The  countess  lived  in  the  rue  du 
Helder,  and  Jenny  in  the  rue  Montmartre.  How 
many  conjectures  came  into  my  mind  as  I  went  from 
here  this  morning!  If  those  two  women  were  not 
ready  to  pay,  they  would  receive  me  with  more  respect 
than  if  I  had  been  their  own  father.  What  grimaces 
that  countess  would  play  off  upon  me  in  place  of  her 
thousand  francs!  She'd  pretend  to  be  cordial,  and 
speak  in  the  coaxing  voice  such  women  reserve  for 
holders  of  notes;  she'd  shower  cajoling  words  upon 
me,  perhaps  implore  me,  and  I  —  ' 

"  Here  the  old  man  cast  his  eye  upon  me. 

"  '  and  I  —  immovable! '  he  went  on.  '  I  am  there 
as  an  Avenger;  I  appear  as  Remorse.  But  enough  of 
such  fancies.     I  got  there. 

"  '  "  Madame  la  comtesse  is  still  in  bed,"  said  the 
lady's-maid. 

"  '  "  When  will  she  be  visible?  " 

"  '  "  At  noon." 

"  4  "  Is  Madame  la  comtesse  ill?  " 

"  '  "  No,  monsieur,  but  she  did  not  return  from  a 
ball  till  three  in  the  morning." 

'""  My  name  is  Gobseck;  tell  her  my  name,  and 
say  I  shall  return  at  noon." 

"  '  And  off  I  went,  signing  my  presence  on  the  carpet 


Grohseck.  19 

that  covered  the  stairs.  I  like  to  muddy  the  floors  of 
rich  men,  not  from  petty  meanness,  but  to  let  them 
feel  the  claws  of  necessity.  Reached  the  rue  Mont- 
martre,  found  a  shabby  sort  of  house,  pushed  open  the 
porte-cochere,  and  saw  a  damp,  dark  courtyard,  where 
the  sun  never  penetrates.  The  porter's  lodge  was 
dingy,  the  glass  of  the  window  looked  like  the  sleeve 
of  a  wadded  dressing-gown  worn  too  long;  it  was 
greasy,  cracked,  and  discolored. 

Mademoiselle  Jenny  Malvaut?  " 
She  's  out;  but  if  you  have  come  about  a  note, 
the  money  is  here." 

"  '"I'll  come  back,"  I  said. 

" l  The  moment  I  heard  the  porter  had  the  money  I 
wanted  to  know  that  girl.  I  felt  sure  she  was  pretty. 
I  spent  the  morning  looking  at  the  engravings  dis- 
played on  the  boulevard.  Then,  as  twelve  o'clock 
sounded,  I  entered  the  salon  which  adjoins  the  bed- 
room of  Madame  la  comtesse. 

"  ' "  Madame  has  just  this  moment  rung  for  me," 
said  the  maid.     "  I  don't  think  she  will  see  you  yet." 

"'"I'll  wait,"  I  answered,  seating  myself  in  an 
armchair. 

"  '  I  heard  the  blinds  open  in  madame's  room;  then 
the  maid  came  hurrying  in,  and  said  to  me :  — 

"  '  "  Come  in,  monsieur." 

By  the  softness  of  her  voice  I  knew  very  well  her 


tt  i 


20  G-obseck. 

mistress  was  not  ready  to  pay.  What  a  beautiful 
woman  I  then  saw!  She  had  flung  a  camel's-hair 
shawl  round  her  shoulders  so  hastily  that  her  shape 
could  be  guessed  in  all  its  nudity.  She  wore  a  night- 
gown trimmed  with  frills  as  white  as  snow,  which 
showed  an  annual  expense  of  over  two  thousand  francs 
for  washing.  Her  black  hair  fell  in  heavy  curls  from 
a  silk  handkerchief,  carelessly  knotted  round  her  head 
after  the  Creole  fashion.  Her  bed  was  the  picture 
of  disorder,  caused,  no  doubt,  by  troubled  sleep.  A 
painter  would  have  paid  a  good  deal  to  have  stood 
a  few  moments  in  the  midst  of  this  scene.  Under 
draperies  voluptuously  looped  up  were  pillows  on  a 
down  quilt  of  sky-blue  silk,  the  lace  of  their  trimming 
showing  to  advantage  on  that  azure  background.  On 
a  bear's  skin,  stretched  between  the  carved  lion's 
paws  of  the  mahogany  bedstead,  lay  white  satin  shoes, 
tossed  off  with  the  carelessness  that  comes  of  the 
fatigue  of  a  ball.  On  a  chair  was  a  rumpled  gown, 
the  sleeves  touching  the  floor.  Stockings  which  a 
breath  of  wind  might  have  blown  away  were  twisted 
round  the  legs  of  a  chair.  A  fan  of  value,  half- 
opened,  glittered  on  the  chimney-piece.  The  drawers 
of  the  bureau  were  open.  Flowers,  diamonds,  gloves, 
a  bouquet,  a  belt,  were  thrown  here  and  there  about 
the  room.  I  breathed  a  vague  odor  of  perfumes.  All 
was   luxury  and   disorder,  beauty  without   harmony. 


Gobseck.  21 

Already  for  this  woman,  or  for  her  lover,  poverty, 
crouching  beneath  these  riches,  raised  its  head  and 
made  them  feel  its  sharpened  teeth.  The  tired  face 
of  the  countess  was  in  keeping  with  that  room  strewn 
with  the  fragments  of  a  fete.  Those  scattered  gew- 
gaws were  pitiful;  collected  on  her  person  the  night 
before,  they  had  brought  her  adoration.  These  vestiges 
of  love,  blasted  by  remorse,  that  image  of  a  life  of  dis- 
sipation, of  luxury,  of  tumult,  betrayed  the  efforts  of 
Tantalus  to  grasp  eluding  pleasures.  A  few  red  spots 
on  the  young  woman's  face  showed  the  delicacy  of 
her  skin;  but  her  features  seemed  swollen,  and  the 
brown  circle  beneath  her  eyes  was  more  marked  than 
was  natural.  Still,  nature  was  too  vigorous  within 
her  to  let  these  indications  of  a  life  of  folly  injure  her 
beauty.  Her  eyes  sparkled.  Like  an  Herodias  of 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  (I  've  sold  those  pictures),  she 
was  magnificent  in  life  and  vigor;  there  was  nothing 
paltry  in  her  form  or  in  her  features;  she  inspired 
love,  and  she  seemed  to  me  to  be  stronger  than  love. 
She  pleased  me.  It  is  long  since  my  heart  has  beaten. 
I  was  paid!  I'd  give  a  thousand  francs  any  day  for 
a  sensation  that  recalled  to  me  my  youth. 

"  '  "  Monsieur,"  she  said,  pointing  to  a  chair,  "will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  wait  for  your  money  ?  " 

K  '  "  Until  to-morrow,  at  noon,  madame,"  I  replied, 
folding  the  note  I  had  presented  to  her.     "I  have  no 


22  Gobseck. 

legal  right  to  protest  until  then."  In  my  own  mind, 
I  was  saying  to  myself:  "Pay  for  your  luxury,  pay 
for  your  name,  pay  for  your  pleasures,  pay  for  the 
monopoly  you  enjoy!  To  secure  their  property  rights 
the  rich  have  invented  courts  and  judges  and  the 
guillotine, —  candles,  in  which  poor  ignorant  creatures 
fly  and  singe  themselves.  But  for  you,  who  sleep  in 
silk  and  satin,  there's  something  else:  there's  re- 
morse, grinding  of  teeth  behind  those  smiles  of  yours, 
jaws  of  fantastic  lions  opening  to  craunch  you!  " 

"  '  "A  protest!  "  she  cried,  looking  me  in  the  face; 
ts  you  can't  mean  it!  Would  you  have  so  little  con- 
sideration for  me?" 

"  '  "  If  the  king  himself  owed  me  money,  madame, 
and  did  not  pay  it,  I  'd  summons  him  even  quicker 
than  another  debtor." 

44  '  At  this  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

U'"I  am  not  visible,"  said  the  countess,  imperi- 
ously. 

"  '  "  Anastasie,  I  want  to  see  you  very  much." 

"  '  "  Not  just  now,  dear,"  she  answered,  in  a  milder 
voice,  but  not  a  kind  one. 

•  "  '  "  What  nonsense!  I  hear  you  talking  to  some 
one,"  said  a  man,  who  could  be,  of  course,  none  other 
than  the  count,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  'The  countess  looked  at  me;  I  understood  her, 
and  from  that  moment  she  became  my  slave.     There 


WW      w     .w 

ww    w 


G-obseck.  23 

was  a  time  in  my  life,  young  man,  when  I  might,  per- 
haps, have  been  fool  enough  not  to  protest.  In  1763, 
at  Ponclicherry,  I  forgave  a  woman  who  swindled  me 
finely.     I  deserved  it;  why  did  I  ever  trust  her! 

"  '  "What  does  monsieur  want?  "  said  the  count. 

"  '  I  saw  that  woman  tremble  from  head  to  foot;  the 
white  and  satiny  skin  of  her  throat  grew  rough  and 
turned,  as  they  say,  to  goose-flesh.  As  for  me,  I 
laughed  inwardly,  without  a  muscle  of  my  face 
quivering. 

Monsieur  is  one  of  my  tradesmen,"  she  said. 
The  count  turned  his  back  upon  me.    I  pulled  the 
note  half  out  of  my  pocket.     Seeing  that  inexorable 
action,  the  young  woman   came  close  up  to  me  and 
offered  me  a  diamond  ring. 

"  '  "  Take  it,  and  go!  "  she  said. 

"  '  That  was  simply  an  exchange  of  properties.  I 
bowed,  gave  her  the  note,  and  left  the  room.  The 
diamond  was  worth  fully  twelve  hundred  francs.  In 
the  courtyard  I  found  a  swarm  of  valets,  brushing 
their  liveries,  blacking  their  boots,  or  cleaning  the 
sumptuous  equipages.  "That,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  is 
what  brings  these  people  to  me.  That's  what  drives 
them  to  steal  millions  decently,  to  betray  their  coun- 
try. Not  to  soil  his  boots  by  going  afoot,  the  great 
lord  —  or  he  who  imitates  the  lord  —  takes,  once  for 
all,  a  bath  of  mud !  "     I  was  thinking  all  that,  when 


24  Grobseck. 

the  great  gates  opened,  and  in  drove  the  cabriolet  of 
the  young  man  who  had  brought  me  the  note. 

"  '  "Monsieur,"  I  said  to  him  as  he  got  out,  "here 
are  two  hundred  francs,  which  I  beg  you  to  return  to 
Madame  la  comtesse;  and  you  will  please  say  to  her 
that  I  hold  at  her  disposition  the  article  she  placed  in 
my  hands  this  morning." 

"  '  He  took  the  two  hundred  francs  with  a  sarcastic 
smile,  which  seemed  to  say:  "Ha!  she  has  paid!  so 
much  the  better!"  I  read  upon  that  young  man's 
face  the  future  of  the  countess.  The  pretty,  fair 
youth,  a  gambler  without  emotion,  will  ruin  himself, 
ruin  her,  ruin  her  husband,  ruin  her  children,  spend 
their  dowries,  and  cause  greater  devastation  through 
salons  than  a  battery  of  grape-shot  through  a  regi- 
ment. Then  I  went  to  the  rue  Montmartre  to  find 
Mademoiselle  Jenny  Malvaut.  I  climbed  up  a  steep 
little  staircase.  When  I  reached  the  fifth  floor,  I 
entered  a  small  apartment  of  two  rooms  only,  where 
all  was  as  clean  and  bright  as  a  new  ducat.  I 
could  n't  see  the  slightest  trace  of  dust  on  the  furni- 
ture of  the  first  room,  where  I  was  received  by  Made- 
moiselle Jenny,  a  true  Parisian  young  woman,  very 
simply  dressed ;  head  f res*h  and  elegant,  prepossessing 
manner,  chestnut  hair,  well-combed,  raised  in  two 
puffs  upon  the  temples,  which  gave  a  look  of  mischief 
to  the  eyes,  that  were  clear  as   crystals.      The  day- 


Grobseck.  25 

light,  coming  through  little  curtains  hanging  at  the 
windows,  threw  a  soft  reflection  on  her  modest  face. 
Round  her  were  numerous  bits  of  linen,  cut  in  shapes 
which  showed  me  her  regular  occupation ;  it  was  evi- 
dently that  of  a  seamstress.  She  sat  there  like  the 
genius  of  solitude.  When  I  presented  the  note  I  said 
that  I  had  not  found  her  at  home  that  morning. 

"  ' "  But,"  she  said,  "the  money  was  with  the 
porter." 

"  '  I  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"  '  "  Mademoiselle  goes  out  earty,  it  seems?  " 

"  *  "  I  seldom  go  out  at  all;  but  if  one  works  at 
night  one  must  take  a  bath  in  the  daytime." 


w.     i 


I  looked  at  her.  With  one  glance  I  could  guess 
the  truth  about  her.  Here  was  a  girl  condemned  to 
toil  by  poverty,  belonging,  no  doubt,  to  a  family  of 
honest  farmers;  for  I  noticed  a  certain  ruddiness  in 
her  face  peculiar  to  those  who  are  born  in  the  country. 
I  can't  tell  you  what  air  of  virtue  it  was  that  breathed 
from  her  features,  but  I  seemed  to  have  entered  an 
atmosphere  of  sincerity  and  innocence ;  my  lungs  were 
freshened.  Poor  child!  she  believed  in  something! 
Her  simple  bedstead  of  painted  wood  was  surmounted 
by  a  crucifix  wreathed  by  two  branches  of  box.  I  was 
half -touched.  I  felt  disposed  to  offer  her  money  at 
twelve  per  cent,  only  to  enable  her  to  purchase  some 
good  business.     "But,"  I  said  to  myself,  "I  daresay 


26  GohsecJc. 

there  's  some  little  cousin  who  would  get  money  on  her 
signature  and  eat  up  all  she  has."  So  I  went  away, 
being  on  my  guard  against  such  generous  ideas,  for 
I  've  often  had  occasion  to  notice  that  when  benev- 
olence does  not  injure  the  benefactor  it  is  sure  to 
destroy  the  person  benefited/  When  you  came  in  I 
was  thinking  what  a  good  little  wife  Jenny  Malvaut 
would  make.  I  compared  her  pure  and  solitary  life 
with  that  of  the  countess,  who,  with  one  foot  over 
the  precipice,  is  about  to  roll  down  into  the  gulf  of 
vice ! 

"'Well!'  he  continued,  after  a  moment  of  pro- 
found silence,  during  which  I  examined  him,  '  do  you 
now  think  there  is  no  enjoyment  in  penetrating  thus 
to  the  inner  folds  of  the  human  heart,  in  espousing 
the  life  of  others,  and  seeing  that  life  bared  before 
me?  Sights  forever  varied!  —  hideous  sores,  mortal 
sorrows,  scenes  of  love,  miseries  which  the  waters  of 
the  Seine  await,  joys  of  youth  leading  to  the  scaffold, 
despairing  laughter,  sumptuous  festivals!  Yesterday, 
a  tragedy,  —  some  good  father  of  a  family  smothers 
himself  with  charcoal  because  he  cannot  feed  his  chil- 
dren. To-morrow,  a  comedy,  —  a  young  man  trying 
to  play  me  the  scene  of  Monsieur  Dimanche,  varied 
to  suit  the  times.  You  have  heard  the  eloquence 
of  our  modern  preachers  vaunted;  I've  occasionally 
wasted  my  time  listening  to  them;   they  have  some- 


Gobseck.  27 

times  made  me  change  my  opinion,  but  my  conduct, 
—  as  some  one,  I  forget  who,  says,  — never!  Well, 
those  good  priests,  and  your  Mirabeau  and  Vergniaud 
and  others  are  stutterers  compared  with  my  orators. 
Often  a  young  girl  in  love,  an  old  merchant  on  the 
downhill  to  bankruptcy,  a  mother  trying  to  hide  her 
son's  crime,  an  artist  without  food,  a  great  man  on 
the  decline  of  his  popularity,  who,  for  want  of  money, 
is  about  to  lose  the  fruit  of  his  efforts,  —  such  beings 
have  made  me  shudder  by  the  power  of  their  words. 
Those  splendid  actors  play  for  me  only,  but  they  do 
not  deceive  me.  My  glance  is  like  that  of  God;  it 
enters  the  heart.  Nothing  is  hidden  from  me.  Noth- 
ing is  denied  to  him  who  opens  and  closes  the  mouth 
of  the  sack.  I  am  rich  enough  to  buy  the  consciences 
of  those  who  manage  the  ministers  of  the  nation,  —  be 
they  ushers  or  mistresses:  isn't  that  power?  I  can 
have  beautiful  women  and  tender  caresses:  isn't  that 
love?  Power  and  pleasure, — don't  those  two  things 
sum  up  the  whole  of  your  social  order?  There's  a 
dozen  of  us  such  as  that  in  Paris;  silent,  unknown 
kings,  the  arbiters  of  your  destinies.  Is  n't  life 
itself  a  machine  to  which  money  imparts  motion? 
Know  this:  means  are  confounded  with  results;  you 
will  never  attain  to  separating  the  soul  from  the 
senses,  spirit  from  matter.  Gold  is  the  spirituality 
of  your  present  social  being.     Bound  by  one  and  the 


28  Gobseck. 

same  interest,  we —  that  dozen  men — meet  together  one 
day  in  every  week,  at  the  cafe  Themis,  near  the  Pont 
Neuf.  There  we  reveal  the  mysteries  of  finance.  No 
apparent  wealth  can  mislead  us ;  we  possess  the  secrets 
of  all  families.  We  keep  a  species  of  black  book,  in 
which  are  recorded  most  important  notes  on  the  public 
credit,  on  the  Bank,  on  commerce.  Casuists  of  the 
Bourse,  we  form  an  Inquisition  where  the  most  indif- 
ferent actions  of  men  of  any  fortune  are  judged  and 
analyzed,  and  our  judgment  is  always  true.  One  of 
us  watches  over  the  judiciary  body;  another,  the  finan- 
cial body ;  a  third,  the  administrative  body ;  a  fourth 
the  commercial  body.  As  for  me,  I  keep  an  eye  on 
eldest  sons,  on  artists,  men  of  fashion,  gamblers,  — 
the  most  stirring  part  of  Paris.  Every  one  whom  we 
severally  deal  with  tells  us  his  neighbor's  secrets: 
betrayed  passions  and  bruised  vanities  are  garrulous ; 
vices,  vengeances,  disappointments  are  the  best  police 
force  in  the  world.  My  brethren,  like  myself,  have 
enjoyed  all  things,  are  sated  with  all  things,  and  have 
come  to  love  power  and  money  solely  for  power  and 
money  themselves.  Here,'  he  added,  pointing  to  his 
cold  and  barren  room,  '  the  fiery  lover,  insulted  by  a 
look,  and  drawing  his  sabre  at  a  word,  kneels  and 
prays  to  me  with  clasped  hands.  Here  the  proudest 
merchant,  here  the  woman  vain  of  her  beauty,  here 
the  dashing  soldier,  pray,  one  and  all,  with  tears  of 


G-obseck.  29 

rage  or  anguish  in  their  eyes.  Here  the  most  cele- 
brated artists,  here  the  writer  whose  name  is  promised 
to  posterity,  pray,  likewise.  Here,  too,'  he  added, 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  forehead,  '  are  the  scales  in 
which  are  weighed  the  inheritances  and  the  dividends 
of  all  Paris.  Do  you  think  now  that  there  are  no 
enjoyments  beneath  this  livid  mask  whose  immobility 
has  so  often  amazed  you?  '  he  said,  turning  toward 
me  his  wan  face,  which  seemed  to  smell  of  money. 

"  I  returned  home  stupefied.  That  shrunken  old 
man  grew  larger;  he  had  changed,  before  my  very 
eyes,  into  some  fantastic  image  personifying  the 
power  of  gold.  Life,  men,  filled  me  with  horror. 
4  Are  all  things  to  be  measured  by  money?'  I  asked 
myself.  I  remember  that  I  did  not  go  to  sleep  that 
night  till  very  late.  Mounds  of  gold  rose  up  around 
me.  The  beautiful  countess  filled  my  thoughts.  I 
confess,  to  my  shame,  that  her  image  completely 
eclipsed  that  of  the  simple  aud  chaste  creature  doomed 
to  toil  and  to  obscurity.  But  on  the  morrow,  through 
the  mists  of  waking,  the  gentle  Jenny  appeared  to  me 
in  all  her  beauty,  and  I  thought  of  her  alone." 

"  Will  you  have  a  glass  of  eau  sucree"  said  the 
viscountess,  interrupting  Derville. 

"  Gladly,""  he  replied. 

"  But  I  don't  see,  in  all  this,  anything  that  concerns 
us,"  said  Madame  cle  Grandlieu,  ringing  the  bell. 


30  G-obsech 

"  Sardanapalus!  "  exclaimed  Derville,  launching  his 
favorite  oath.  ."I  am  going  to  wake  up  Mademoiselle 
Camille  presently  by  showing  her  that  her  happiness 
has  depended,  until  recently,  on  papa  Gobseck.  But 
the  old  man  is  now  dead,  at  the  age  of  eighty-nine, 
and  the  Comte  de  Restaud  will  soon  come  into  posses- 
sion of  a  noble  fortune.  This  needs  some  explana- 
ion.  As  for  Jenny  Malvaut,  you  know  her;  she  is 
now  my  wife." 

"  Poor  boy!  "  exclaimed  the  viscountess,  "  he  would 
tell  that  before  a  score  of  people,  with  his  usual 
frankness." 

"  Yes,  I  'd  shout  it  to  the  universe,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Drink  your  water,  my  poor  Derville.  You  '11 
never  be  anything  but  the  happiest  and  the  best  of 


men." 


"  I  left  you  in  the  rue  clu  Helder,  with  a  countess," 
cried  the  uncle,  waking  from  a  doze.  "  What  did  you 
do  there  ?  " 

Y  A  few  days  after  my  conversation  with  the  old 
Dutchman,"  resumed  Derville,  "  I  took  my  licentiate's 
degree  and  became,  soon  after,  a  barrister.  The  con- 
fidence the  old  miser  had  in  me  increased  greatly.  He 
consulted  me,  gratuitously,  on  the  ticklish  affairs  in 
which  he  embarked  after  obtaining  certain  data,  — 
affairs  which,  to  practical  minds,  would  have  seemed 
very   dangerous.     That  man,  over  whom   no  human 


Grobseck.  31 

being  could  have  gained  any  power,  listened  to  my 
counsels  with  a  sort  of  respect.  It  is  true  that  they 
usually  helped  him.  At  last,  on  the  day  when  I  was 
made  head-clerk  of  the  office  in  which  I  had  worked 
three  years,  I  left  the  house  in  the  rue  des  Gres,  and 
went  to  live  with  my  patron,  who  gave  me  board  and 
lodging,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty  francs  a  month. 
That  was  a  fine  day  for  me !  When  I  said  good-bye 
to  the  old  usurer,  he  expressed  neither  friendship  nor 
regret;  he  did  not  ask  me  to  come  and  see  him;  he 
merely  gave  me  one  of  those  glances  which  seemed  to 
reveal  in  him  the  gift  of  second-sight.  At  the  end 
of  a  week,  however,  I  received  a  visit  from  him ;  he 
brought  me  a  rather  difficult  affair,  —  a  dispossession 

case,  —  and  he  continued  his  gratuitous  consultations 

( 
with  as  much  freedom  as  if  he  paid  me.     At  the  end 

of  the  second  year,  from  1818  to  1819,  my  patron  — 
a  man  of  pleasure,  and  very  extravagant  —  became 
involved,  and  was  forced  to  sell  his  practice.  Al- 
though at  that  time  a  lawyer's  practice  had  not 
acquired  the  exorbitant  value  it  now  possesses,  my 
patron  almost  gave  away  his  in  asking  no  more  than 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  for  it.  An 
active,  intelligent,  and  well-trained  lawyer  might  live 
respectably,  pay  the  interest  on  that  sum,  and  free 
himself  of  the  debt  in  ten  years,  could  he  only  inspire 
confidence  in  some  one  who  would  lend  him  the  pur- 


32  Gobseck. 

chase-money.  I,  the  seventh  son  of  a  small  bourgeois 
of  Noyon,  did  not  possess  one  penny,  and  I  knew 
but  one  capitalist;  namely,  papa  Gobseck.  A  daring 
thought,  and  some  strange  gleam  of  hope,  gave  me 
courage  to  go  to  him.  Accordingly,  one  evening,  I 
slowly  walked  to  the  rue  cles  Gres.  My  heart  beat 
violently  as  I  knocked  at  the  door  of  that  gloomy 
house.  I  remembered  what  the  old  miser  had  told  me 
in  former  days,  when  I  was  far,  indeed,  from  imagin- 
ing the  violence  of  the  agony  which  began  on  the 
threshold  of  that  door.  I  was  now  about  to  pray  to 
him  like  the  rest!  '  No,  no!  '  I  said  to  myself,  4  an 
honest  man  should  keep  his  dignity  under  all  circum- 
stances; no  fortune  is  worth  a  meanness;  I'll  make 
myself  as  stiff  as  he.'  Since  my  departure,  papa 
Gobseck  had  hired  my  room,  in  order  to  have  no  other 
neighbor;  he  had  also  put  a  little  grated  peep-hole 
into  the  middle  of  his  door,  which  he  did  not  open 
till  he  recognized  my  face. 

"  '  Well ! '  he  said,  in  his  fluty  little  voice,  '  so  your 
patron  sells  his  practice.' 

"  '  How  did  you  know  that?  He  has  not  mentioned 
it  to  a  soul  but  me. ' 

"  The  lips  of  the  old  man  drew  toward  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  precisely  like  curtains,  and  that  mute 
smile  was  accompanied  by  a  frigid  glance. 

"  '  It  needed  that  fact  to  bring  you  here  to  me,'  he 


U   i 


Gobseck.  33 

said,  in  a  dry  tone,  and  after  a  pause,  during  which  I 
remained  somewhat  confounded. 

"  '  Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  Gobseck,'  I  said,  with 
as  much  calmness  as  I  was  able  to  muster  in  presence 
of  that  old  man,  who  fixed  upon  me  his  impassible 
eyes,  the  clear  flame  of  which  disturbed  me. 
He  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  say,  '  Speak.' 
I  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  move  you.  I  should 
waste  my  eloquence  in  trying  to  make  you  see  the 
position  of  a  clerk  without  a  penny,  whose  only  hope 
is  in  you,  and  who  has  no  other  heart  in  the  world  but 
yours  in  which  his  future  is  understood.  Let  us  drop 
the  question  of  heart;  business  is  business,  and  not 
romance  or  sentimentality.  Here  are  the  facts:  My 
patron's  practice  brings  him  about  twenty  thousand 
francs  a  year,  but  in  my  hands  I  think  it  would  bring 
forty  thousand.  He  wants  to  sell  it  for  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand.  I  feel,  here,'  I  continued,  striking 
my  forehead,  '  that  if  you  will  lend  me  the  purchase- 
money  I  can  pay  it  off  in  ten  years.' 

"'  That's  talking,'  replied  papa  Gobseck,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  and  pressing  mine.  '  Never,  since 
I  have  been  in  business,'  he  went  on,  -  has  any 
one  declared  more  plainly  the  object  of  his  visit. 
Security?  '  he  said,  looking  me  over  from  head  to 
foot.  '  Naught '  —  adding,  after  a  pause,  '  How  old 
are  you?' 

3 


34  Gobseck. 


a  t 


Twenty-five  in  a  few  clays/  I  replied;  'except 
for  that  I  couldn't  purchase.' 

"'True.' 

"  '  Well  ?  ' 

"  '  Possibly  I  may  do  it.' 

"'There's  no  time  to  lose;  I  am  likely  to  have 
competitors  who  will  put  up  the  price.' 

"  '  Bring  me  the  certificate  of  your  birth  to-morrow 
morning,  and  we  '11  talk  the  matter  over.  I  '11  think 
of  it.' 

"  The  next  day,  by  eight  o'clock,  I  was  in  the  old 
man's  room.  He  took  the  official  paper,  put  on  his 
spectacles,  coughed,  spat,  wrapped  his  big  coat  round 
him,  and  read  the  extracts  from  the  register  of  the 
mayor's  office  carefully.  Then  he  turned  the  paper 
and  re-turned  it,  looked  at  me,  coughed  again,  wriggled 
in  his  chair,  and  said,  finally :  — 

"  ;  This  is  a  matter  we  will  try  to  arrange.' 
I  quivered.  '  I  get  fifty  per  cent  for  my  money,'  he 
continued;  '  sometimes  one  hundred,  two  hundred, 
even  five  hundred  per  cent.'  I  turned  pale  at  these 
words.  i  But,  in  consideration  of  our  acquaintance, 
I  shall  content  myself  with  twelve  and  a  half  per 
cent  interest  per  — '  He  hesitated.  '  Well,  yes !  for 
your  sake  I  will  be  satisfied  with  thirteen  per  cent  per 
annum.     Will  that  suit  you?  ' 

"'Yes,'  I  replied. 


Grobseck.  35 

"'But  if  it  is  too  much,'  he  said,  'speak  out, 
Grotius  '  (he  often  called  me  Grotius  in  fun).  '  In 
asking  you  thirteen  per  cent  I  ply  my  trade ;  consider 
whether  you  can  pay  it.  I  don't  like  a  man  who  hob- 
nobs to  everything.     Is  it  too  much?  ' 

"  '  No,'  I  said,  '  I  can  meet  it  by  rather  more 
privation.' 

"  'Parbleu!  '  he  cried,  casting  his  malicious,  oblique 
glance  upon  me;  '  make  your  clients  pay  it.' 

"  '  No,  by  all  the  devils!'  I  cried;  'it  will  be  I 
who  pay  it.  I  'd  cut  my  hand  off  sooner  than  fleece 
others. ' 

"  '  Fiddle! '  said  papa  Gobseck. 

"'Besides,  a  lawyer's  fees  go  by  tariff,'  I 
continued. 

"'They  don't,'  he  said.  'Not  for  negotiations, 
suits  for  recovery  of  funds,  compromises.  You  can 
make  thousands  of  francs,  according  to  the  interests 
involved,  out  of  your  conferences,  trips,  drafts  of 
deeds,  memoranda,  and  other  verbiage.  You  '11  have 
to  learn  that  sort  of  thing.  I  shall  recommend  you  as 
the  cleverest  and  most  knowing  of  lawyers ;  I  '11  send 
you  such  a  lot  of  such  cases  that  all  your  brother- 
lawyers  will  burst  with  jealousy.  Werbrust,  Palma, 
Gigonnet,  my  friends,  shall  give  you  all  their  dispos- 
session cases,  —  and  God  knows  how  many  they  are! 
You  '11  thus  have  two  practices,  —  the  one  you  buy, 


36  Gobseck. 

and  the  one  I  make  for  you.  You  ought  to  give  me 
fifteen  per  cent,  at  least,  for  my  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs.' 

"  '  So  be  it,  but  not  a  penny  more,'  I  said,  with  the 
firmness  of  a  man  who  will  grant  nothing  further. 

"  Papa  Gobseck  relented  at  this,  and  seemed  pleased 
with  me. 

"  '  I'll  pay  the  price  to  your  patron  myself,'  he 
said,  '  so  as  to  secure  myself  a  solid  hold  on  the 
security.' 

"  '  Oh!  yes,  take  all  the  security  you  want.' 

"  'Also,  you  must  give  me  fifteen  bills  of  exchange, 
acceptances  in  blank,  for  ten  thousand  francs  each. ' 

"  '  Provided  that  double  value  be  distinctly 
recorded  — ' 

"'No!'  cried  Gobseck,  interrupting  me.  'Why 
do  you  want  me  to  have  more  confidence  in  you  than 
you  have  in  me?'  I  kept  silence.  'And  also,'  he 
went  on,  in  a  good-humored  tone,  '  you  will  do  all  my 
business  without  asking  fees,  as  long  as  I  live;  is 
that  agreed  to  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  provided  there  is  no  further  demand  made.' 

"  '  Right! '  he  said.     '  Ah  gaf  added  the  little  old 
man,  after  a  momentary  pause,  his  face  taking,  but 
with  difficulty,  an  air  of  good-humor,  '  you  '11  allow 
me  to  go  and  see  you  sometimes?' 
It  will  always  give  me  pleasure.' 


it  i 


Grobseek.  37 

44  '  Yes,  but  when?  In  the  mornings  it  would  be 
impossible;  you  have  your  business  and  I  have  mine.' 

"  t  Come  in  the  evening. ' 

44  4  Oh,  no! '  he  said  hastily;  4  you  ought  to  go  into 
society  and  meet  your  clients;  I,  too,  I  have  my 
friends  at  the  cafe.' 

44 '  His  friends! '  thought  I.  4  Well,  then,'  I  said, 
'  why  not  take  the  dinner-hour  ?  ' 

44  4  That 's  it,'  said  Gobseck.  4  After  the  Bourse, 
about  five  o'clock.  You  '11  see  me  every  Wednesday 
and  Saturday.  We  talk  of  our  affairs  like  a  couple 
of  friends.  Ha!  ha!  I  can  be  gay  sometimes.  Give 
me  the  wing  of  a  partridge  and  a  glass  of  champagne, 
and  we  '11  talk.  I  know  many  things  that  can  be  told 
in  these  days ;  things  which  will  teach  you  to  know 
men  and,  above  all,  women.' 

44  4So  be  it  for  the  partridge  and  the  champagne,'  I 
said. 

44  4  Don't  be  extravagant,  or  you  '11  lose  my  confi- 
dence. Get  an  old  woman-servant, —  only  one,  mind; 
don't  set  up  an  establishment.  I  shall  come  and  see 
you  to  look  after  your  health.  I  've  capital  invested 
on  your  head,  he!  he!  and  I  ought  to  keep  informed 
about  you.  Come  back  this  evening,  and  bring  your 
patron. ' 

44  4  Might  I  be  informed,  if  there  is  no  indiscretion 
in  asking,'  I  said  to  the  old  man  when  we  reached  the 


38  Gobseck. 

threshold  of  his  door,  '  of  what  possible  importance 
the  certificate  of  my  birth  could  be  in  this  affair?  ' 

"  Jean-Esther  van  Gobseck  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
smiled  maliciously,  and  replied :  '  How  foolish  youth 
is !  Know  this,  my  learned  barrister,  —  you  must 
know  it  to  keep  from  being  cheated,  — before  the  age 
of  thirty  honesty  and  talent  are  still  a  sort  of  mortgage 
to  be  taken  on  a  man.  After  that  age  he  is  not  to  be 
trusted. ' 

"  So  saying,  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Three  months  later  I  became  a  barrister,  and 
soon  after  I  had  the  great  good-fortune,  madame,  of 
being  chosen  to  undertake  the  business  concerning  the 
restitution  of  your  property.  The  winning  of  that  suit 
made  me  known.  In  spite  of  the  enormous  interest  I 
paid  Gobseck,  I  was  able,  in  five  years,  to  pay  off  my 
indebtedness.  I  married  Jenny  Malvaut,  whom  I  love 
sincerely.  The  likeness  between  our  two  lives,  our 
toil,  our  successes,  increased  the  tie  between  us. 
Jenny's  uncle,  a  rich  farmer,  died,  leaving  her  seventy 
thousand  francs,  which  helped  to  pay  off  my  debt. 
Since  that  day  my  life  has  been  nothing  but  happi- 
ness and  prosperity  —  no  need,  therefore,  to  say  more 
about  myself;  nothing  is  so  intolerably  dull  as  a  happy 
man.  Let  us  go  back  to  our  personages.  About  a 
year  after  I  bought  my  practice,  I  was  enticed,  almost 
against  my  will,  to  a  bachelor's  breakfast.     The  party 


G-obseck.  39 

was  the  result  of  a  wager  lost  by  one  of  my  legal 
friends  to  a  young  man  then  much  in  vogue  in  the 
world  of  fashion.  Monsieur  Maxime  de  Trailles,  the 
flower  of  dandyism  in  those  days,  enjoyed  a  great 
reputation  —  " 

4 'And  still  enjoys  it,"  said  the  Comte  de  Born, 
interrupting  Derville.  "No  man  wears  a  coat  with 
more  style  or  drives  a  tandem  better  than  he.  Maxime 
has  the  art  of  playing  cards,  and  eating  and  drink- 
ing with  more  grace  than  the  rest  of  the  world  put 
together.  He  knows  what  is  what  in  horses,  hats,  and 
pictures.  The  women  dote  upon  him.  He  always 
spends  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,  though  no 
one  ever  heard  of  his  owning  property  or  a  single 
coupon  of  interest.  A  type  of  the  knight-errant  of 
salons,  boudoirs,  and  the  boulevards, —  an  amphibious 
species,  half-man,  half-woman,  —  Comte  Maxime  de 
Trailles  is  a  singular  being,  good  at  everything  and 
good  for  nothing,  feared  and  despised,  knowing  most 
things,  yet  ignorant  at  bottom,  just  as  capable  of  doing 
a  benefit  as  of  committing  a  crime,  sometimes  base, 
sometimes  noble,  more  covered  with  mud  than  stained 
with  blood,  having  anxieties  but  no  remorse,  caring 
more  for  digestion  than  for  thought,  feigning  pas- 
sions and  feeling  none.  He  's  a  brilliant  ring  that 
might  connect  the  galleys  with  the  highest  society. 
Maxime  de  Trailles  is  a   man  who  belongs   to   that 


40  Grobseck. 

eminently  intelligent  class  from  which  sprang  Mira- 
beau,  Pitt,  Richelieu,  but  which  more  frequently 
supplies  the  world  with  Comtes  de  Horn,  Fouquier- 
Tinvilles,  and  Coignards." 

"Well!"  resumed  Derville,  after  listening  to  these 
remarks  of  Madame  de  Grandlieu's  brother.  "I  had 
heard  a  great  deal  of  that  personage  from  poor  Pere 
Goriot,  who  was  one  of  my  clients ;  but  I  had  always 
avoided,  when  I  met  him  in  society,  the  dangerous 
honor  of  his  acquaintance.  However,  my  friend  urged 
me  so  strongly  to  go  to  his  breakfast  that  I  could  not 
escape  doing  so  without  being  accused  of  austerity. 
You  can  hardly  conceive  of  a  bachelor's  breakfast, 
madame.  It  is  a  magnificent  show  of  the  greatest 
rarities,  —  the  luxury  of  a  miser  who  is  sumptuous 
for  one  day  only.  On  entering,  one  is  struck  by  the 
order  that  reigns  on  a  table  so  dazzling  with  silver 
and  glass  and  damasked  linen.  Life  is  there  in  its 
flower;  the  young  men  are  so  graceful,  so  smiling, 
they  speak  low,  they  resemble  the  newly  wedded,  — 
all  seems  virgin  about  them.  Two  hours  later  you 
would  think  that  same  room  was  a  battlefield  after  the 
battle.  On  all  sides  broken  glasses,  twisted  and 
soiled  napkins;  dishes  half-eaten,  and  repugnant  to 
the  eye ;  shouts  that  split  the  ears,  sarcastic  toasts,  a 
fire  of  epigrams,  malignant  jests,  purple  faces,  eyes 
inflamed,  no  longer  capable  of  expression,  —  involun- 


Qobseck.  41 

tary  confidences  which  tell  all!  In  the  midst  of  this 
infernal  racket,  some  break  bottles,  others  troll  songs, 
they  challenge  each  other,  they  kiss  or  fight;  an  odious 
smell  arises  of  a  hundred  odors,  shouts  on  a  hundred 
tones ;  no  one  knows  what  he  eats,  or  what  he  drinks, 
or  what  he  says ;  some  are  sad,  others  garrulous ;  one 
man  is  monomaniacal,  and  repeats  the  same  word  like 
a  clock  with  the  striker  going ;  another  man  wants  to 
command  the  riot,  and  the  wisest  propose  an  orgy.  If 
any  man  entered  the  room  in  his  senses  he  would  think 
it  a  Bacchanalian  revel.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
tumult  as  this  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles  attempted  to 
insinuate  himself  into  my  good  graces.  I  had  pre- 
served my  senses  pretty  well,  for  I  was  on  my  guard. 
As  for  him,  though  he  affected  to  be  decently  drunk, 
he  was  perfectly  cool,  and  full  of  his  own  projects. 
I  can't  say  how  it  was  done,  but  by  the  time  we  left 
Grignon's  that  evening,  at  nine  o'clock,  he  had  com- 
pletely bewitched  me,  and  I  had  promised  to  take 
him,  the  next  clay,  to  papa  Gobseck.  The  words, 
honor,  virtue,  countess,  honest  woman,  adored  woman, 
misery,  despair,  shone,  thanks  to  his  gilded  language, 
like  magic  through  his  talk.  When  I  awoke  the  next 
morning,  and  tried  to  remember  what  I  had  done  the 
day  before,  I  had  much  difficulty  in  putting  my  ideas 
together.  However,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  daughter 
of  one  of  my  clients  was  in  danger  of  losing  her  repu- 


42  Gobseck. 

tation  and  the  respect  and  love  of  her  husband,  if  she 
could  not  obtain  some  fifty  thousand  francs  that  morn- 
ing. She  had  debts:  losses  at  cards,  coachmaker's 
bill,  money  lost  I  knew  not  how.  My  fascinating 
friend  had  assured  me  that  she  was  rich  enough  to 
repair,  by  a  few  years  of  economy,  the  damage  she 
was  about  to  do  to  her  fortune.  Not  until  morning 
did  I  perceive  the  insistency  of  my  new  friend;  and 
I  certainly  had  no  idea  of  the  importance  it  was  for 
papa  Gobseck  to  make  peace  with  this  dandy.  Just 
as  I  was  getting  out  of  bed  Monsieur  de  Trailles  came 
to  see  me. 

"  '  Monsieur  le  comte,'  I  said,  after  the  usual  com- 
pliments had  passed,  '  I  do  not  see  that  you  need  my 
introduction  in  presenting  yourself  to  van  Gobseck, 
the  most  polite  and  harmless  of  all  capitalists.  He  '11 
give  you  the  money  if  he  has  it,  or,  rather,  if  you  can 
present  him  with  sufficient  security.' 

"'  Monsieur,'  he  replied,  lI  have  no  wish  what- 
ever to  force  you  into  doing  me  a  service,  even  though 
you  may  have  promised  it.' 

"  '  Sardanapalus ! '  I  said  to  myself;  'shall  I  let 
this  man  think  I  go  back  on  my  word  ?  ' 

"  '  I  had  the  honor  to  tell  you  yesterday,'  he  con- 
tinued, '  that  T  have  quarrelled,  most  inopportunely, 
with  papa  Gobseck.  Now,  as  there  is  no  other  money- 
lender in  Paris  who  can  fork  out  at  once,  and  the  first 


G-obseck.  43 

of  the  month  too,  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  I  begged 
you  to  make  my  peace  with  him.  But  let  us  say  no 
more  about  it.' 

"  Monsieur  de  Trailles  looked  at  me  with  an  air 
that  was  politely  insulting,  and  prepared  to  leave  the 
room. 

"  '  I  am  ready  to  take  you  to  him/  I  said. 

"  When  we  reached  the  rue  des  Gres  the  dandy 
looked  about  him  with  an  attention  and  an  air  of 
anxiety  which  surprised  me.  His  face  became  livid, 
reddened  and  turned  yellow  in  turn,  and  drops  of 
sweat  stood  on  his  forehead  as  he  saw  the  door  of 
Gobseck's  house.  Just  as  we  got  out  of  his  cabriolet, 
a  hackney-coach  entered  the  rue  des  Gres.  The  fal- 
con eye  of  the  young  man  enabled  him,  no  doubt,  to 
distinguish  a  woman  in  the  depths  of  that  vehicle. 
An  expression  of  almost  savage  joy  brightened  his 
face;  he  called  to  a  little  urchin  who  was  passing, 
and  gave  him  his  horse  to  hold.  We  went  up  at  once 
to  the  money-lender. 

"  '  Monsieur  Gobseck,'  I  said,  *  I  bring  you  one  of 
my  intimate  friends  (whom  I  distrust  as  I  do  the 
devil,'  I  added  in  his  ear).  '  To  oblige  me,  I  am  sure 
you  will  restore  him  to  your  good  graces  (at  the  usual 
cost),  and  you  will  get  him  out  of  his  present  trouble 
(if  you  choose).' 

"Monsieur  de  Trailles   bowed   to   the   usurer,   sat 


44  Gobseck. 

down,  and  assumed,  as  if  to  listen  to  him,  a  courtier- 
like attitude,  the  graceful  lowliness  of  which  would 
have  fascinated  you.  But  my  Gobseck  sat  still  on 
his  chair,  at  the  corner  of  his  fire,  motionless,  impas- 
sible. He  looked  like  the  statue  of  Voltaire  seen  at 
night  under  the  peristyle  of  the  Theatre-Fran$ais. 
He  slightly  lifted,  by  way  of  bow,  the  shabby  cap 
with  which  he  covered  his  head,  and  the  small  amount 
of  yellow  skull  he  thus  exhibited  completed  his  resem- 
blance to  that  marble  statue. 

I  have  no  money  except  for  my  clients,'  he  said. 
That  means  that  you  are  very  angry  with  me 
for  going  elsewhere  to  ruin  myself?'  said  the  count, 
laughing. 

"  4  Ruin  yourself!  '  said  Gobseck,  in  a  sarcastic 
tone. 

"  '  Do  you  mean  that  a  man  can't  be  ruined  if  he 
owns  nothing  ?  I  defy  you  to  find  in  all  Paris  a  finer 
capital  than  this,'  cried  the  dandy,  rising,  and  twirling 
round  upon  his  heels. 

"  This  buffoonery,  which  was  partly  serious,  had 
no  power  to  move  Gobseck. 

"  '  Am  I  not  the  intimate  friend  of  Ronquerolles,  de 
Marsay,  Franchessini,  the  two  Vandenesses,  Ajuda- 
Pinto,  —  in  short,  all  the  young  bloods  in  Paris?  At 
cards  I  'm  the  ally  of  a  prince  and  an  ambassador 
whom  you  know.     I  have  my  revenues  in  London,  at 


G-obseck.  45 

Carlsbad,  Baden,  Bath,  Spa.     Don't  you  think  that 
the  most  brilliant  of  industries  ? ' 

"  'Surely.' 

"  '  You  make  a  sponge  of  me,  mordieu  !  you  encour- 
age me  to  swell  out  in  the  great  world  only  to  squeeze 
me  at  a  crisis.     But  all  you  money-lenders  are  sponges 
too,  and  death  will  squeeze  you.' 
Possibly.' 

Without  spendthrifts  what  would  become  of  you  ? 
We  are  one,  like  body  and  soul.' 

"  'True.' 

"  '  Come,  shake  hands,  old  papa  Gobseck,  and  show 
your  magnanimity.' 

"  '  You  have  come  to  me,'  said  Gobseck,  coldly, 
'  because  Girard,  Palma,  Werbrust,  and  Gigonnet  have 
their  bellies  full  of  your  notes,  which  they  are  offering 
everywhere  at  fifty  per  cent  loss.  Now  as  they  prob- 
ably only  gave  you  one-half  of  their  face  value,  those 
notes  are  not  worth  twenty-five  francs  on  the  hundred. 
No,  I  thank  you!  Could  I,  with  any  decency,'  con- 
tinued Gobseck,  '  lend  a  single  penny  to  a  man  who 
owes  thirty  thousand  francs,  and  does  n't  possess  a 
farthing  ?  You  lost  ten  thousand  francs  night  before 
last  at  Baron  de  Nucingen's  ball.' 

"'Monsieur,'  replied  the  count,  with  rare  impu- 
dence, looking  at  the  old  man  haughtily,  '  my  doings 
are  none  of  your  business.  He  whose  notes  are  not 
due  owes  nothiuii. ' 


46  Gobseck. 

"'True.' 

"  '  My  notes  will  be  paid.' 

"  '  Possibly.' 

"  '  The  question  between  us  reduces  itself,  at  this 
moment,  to  whether  I  present  you  sufficient  security 
for  the  sum  I  wish  to  borrow.' 

"  '  Right. ' 

"  The  noise  of  a  carriage  stopping  before  the  door 
echoed  through  the  room. 

"  '  I  will  now  fetch  something  that  will  probably 
satisfy  you,'  said  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  rising,  and 
turning  to  leave  the  room. 

"  '  O  my  son!  '  cried  Gobseck,  rising  too,  and 
stretching  out  his  arms  to  me  as  soon  as  the  young 
man  had  disappeared,  '  if  he  only  brings  me  good 
security,  you  have  saved  my  life !  I  should  have  died ! 
Werbrust  and  Gigonnet  meant  to  play  me  a  trick. 
Thanks  to  you,  I  shall  have  a  good  laugh  to-night  at 
their  expense.' 

"  The  old  man's  joy  had  something  frightful  about 
it.  It  was  the  sole  moment  of  expansion  or  feeling 
I  ever  saw  in  him.  Rapid  and  fleeting  as  it  was,  that 
joy  will  never  pass  from  my  memory. 

"  'Do  me  the  pleasure  to  stay  here,'  he  said. 
1  Though  I'm  well-armed  and  sure  of  my  shot,  like  a 
man  who  has  hunted  tigers  and  boarded  ships  to  con- 
quer or  die,  I  distrust  that  elegant  scoundrel.' 


Gobseck.  47 

"He  sat  clown  again,  this  time  in  an  armchair  before 
his  desk.     His  face  was  once  more  calm  and  livid. 

"  '  Ho!  ho!  '  he  said,  suddenly  turning  round  to 
me;  '  you  are  no  doubt  going  to  see  that  handsome 
creature  I  once  told  you  about.  I  hear  an  aristocratic 
step  in  the  passage.' 

"  Sure  enough,  the  young  man  now  returned,  lead- 
ing a  lady,  in  whom  I  recognized  that  countess  whom 
Gobseck  had  once  described  to  me,  —  a  daughter  of 
Pere  Goriot.     The  countess  did  not  at  first  see  me, 
for  I  was  standing  back  in  the  recess  of  a  window, 
my  face  to  the  glass.     As  she  entered  the  damp  and 
gloomy  room  she  cast  a  look  of  fear  and  distrust  at 
Maxime.     She  was  so  beautiful  that  in  spite  of  her 
faults  I  pitied  her.     Some  terrible  anguish  shook  her 
heart;  her  proud  and  noble  features  wore  a  convulsive 
expression,    scarcely   restrained.      That   young   man 
must  by  this  time  have  become  to  her  an  evil  genius. 
I  admired  Gobseck,  who,  four  years  earlier,  had  fore- 
seen the  fate  of  these  two  beings  at  the  time  of  their 
first  note.     '  Probably, '  I  said  to  myself,  '  that  mon- 
ster with  the  face  of   an  angel   rules  her  in  all  pos- 
sible  ways,  through  vanity,   jealousy,   pleasure,    the 
triumphs  of  society. '  " 

"But,"  cried  Madame  de  Grandlieu,  interrupting 
Derville,  "  the  very  virtues  of  this  woman  have  been 
weapons  for  him ;  he  has  made  her  weep  tears  of  devo- 


48  Gobseck. 

tion;  he  has  roused  in  her  soul  the  generosity  of  our 
sex;  he  has  abused  her  tenderness,  and  sold  to  her, 
at  a  cruel  price,  her  criminal  joys." 

"  I  confess  to  you,"  said  Derville,  who  did  not 
understand  the  signs  that  Madame  de  Grandlieu  was 
making  to  him,  "that  I  did  not  think  of  the  fate  of 
that  unhappy  creature,  so  brilliant  to  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  and  so  dreadful  to  those  who  could  read  her 
heart.  No,  I  shuddered  with  horror  as  I  looked  at 
her  slayer,  that  youth  with  a  brow  so  pure,  a  mouth 
so  fresh,  a  smile  so  gracious,  teeth  so  white;  a  man 
in  the  semblance  of  an  angel!  They  stood  at  this 
moment  before  a  judge  who  examined'  them  as  an 
old  Dominican  of  the  sixteenth  century  might  have 
watched  the  torturing  of  two  Moors  in  the  cellars  of 
the  Inquisition. 

"  '  Monsieur,  is  there  any  way  of  obtaining  the 
value  of  these  diamonds,  reserving  to  myself  the  right 
to  redeem  them  ?  '  she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  hold- 
ing out  to  him  a  casket. 

"  '  Yes,  madame,'  I  replied,  interposing,  and  coming 
forward. 

"  She  looked  at  me,  recognized  me,  gave  a  shudder, 
and  then  cast  upon  me  that  glance  which  says,  in 
every  country,  i  Silence!  ' 

"  '  The  matter  you  propose,'  I  continued,  i  consti- 
tutes an  act  which  we  lawyers  call  sale  with  right  of 


Gobseck.  49 

redemption,  —  a  transaction  which  consists  in  yielding 
and  conveying  property,  either  real  or  personal,  for  a 
given  time,  at  the  expiration  of  which  the  property 
can  be  taken  back  at  a  previously  fixed  price.' 

"  She  breathed  more  easily.  Comte  Maxime  frowned ; 
he  thought  the  usurer  would  give  a  smaller  sum  for  the 
diamonds  if  subject  to  this  condition.  Gobseck,  im- 
movable, picked  up  his  magnifier,  and  silently  opened 
the  casket.  Were  I  to  live  a  hundred  years  I  could 
never  forget  the  picture  his  face  presented  to  our  eyes. 
His  pale  cheeks  colored;  his  eyes,  in  which  the  glitter 
of  the  stoues  seemed  to  be  reflected,  sparkled  with 
unnatural  fire.  He  rose,  went  to  the  light,  held  the 
diamonds  close  to  his  toothless  mouth  as  if  he  wanted 
to  devour  them.  He  mumbled  a  few  vague  words, 
lifting,  one  after  the  other,  the  bracelets,  necklaces, 
diadems,  sprays, —  all  of  which  he  held  to  the  light  to 
judge  of  their  water,  their  whiteness  and  cutting.  He 
took  them  from  the  casket,  and  he  laid  them  back,  he 
played  with  them  to  make  their  fires  sparkle,  seeming 
more  of  a  child  than  an  old  man,  —  or,  rather,  a  child 
and  an  old  man  combined. 

"  '  Fine!  they  must  have  been  worth  three  hundred 
thousand  francs  before  the  Revolution.  What  water! 
True  diamonds  of  Asia!  from  Golconda  orVisapur! 
Do  you  know  their  value?  No,  no,  Gobseck  is  the 
only  man  in  Paris  who  knows  how  to  appraise  them. 

4 


50  Gobseck. 

Under  the  Empire  it  would  still  have  cost  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  collect  that  set,  but  now  — '  He 
made  a  gesture  of  disgust,  and  added,  '  Now  dia- 
monds are  losing  value  every  day.  Brazil  is  flooding 
us  with  stones, —  less  white  than  those  of  India. 
Women  no  longer  wear  them,  except  at  court.  Does 
madame  go  to  court?  ' 

"While  delivering  this  verdict  he  was  still  examin- 
ing, with  indescribable  delight,  each  stone  in  the 
casket. 

"'No  blemish! '  he  kept  saying,  'One  blemish! 
Here  's  a  flaw —     Beautiful  stone!  ' 

"  His  pallid  face  was  so  illumined  by  the  light  of 
these  stones,  that  I  compared  it  in  my  own  mind  io 
those  old  greenish  mirrors  we  find  in  provincial  inns, 
which  receive  the  reflection  of  a  light  without  return- 
ing it,  and  give  an  appearance  of  apoplexy  to  the 
traveller  who  is  bold  enough  to  look  into  them. 

"  '  Well?*  said  the  count,  striking  Gobseck  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  The  old  child  quivered;  he  laid  his  toys  on  the 
desk,  sat  down,  and  became  once  more  a  usurer,  hard, 
cold,  polished  as  a  marble  column. 
How  much  do  you  want?  ' 

One  hundred  thousand  francs  for  three  years,' 
replied  the  count.     '  Can  we  have  them?  ' 

"  '  Possibly,'  answered  Gobseck,  taking  from  their 


Gobseck.  51 

mahogany  box  a  pair  of  scales  of  inestimable  worth 
for  accuracy, —  his  jewel-case,  as  it  were !  He  weighed 
the  stones,  valuing,  at  a  glance,  Heaven  knows  how! 
the  weight  of  the  settings.  During  this  time  the 
expression  on  the  money-lender's  face  wavered  between 
joy  and  sternness.  The  countess  was  lost  in  a  stupor, 
which  I  noted  carefully;  she  seemed  to  be  measuring 
the  depth  of  the  precipice  down  which  she  was  falling. 
There  was  still  some  lingering  remorse  in  the  soul  of 
that  woman;  it  needed,  perhaps,  but  a  single  effort, 
a  hand  stretched  charitably  out,  to  save  her.  I  would 
try  it. 

"  '  Are  these  diamonds  yours,  madame?  '  I  asked, 
in  a  clear  voice. 

"  '  Yes,  monsieur, '  she  replied,  giving  me  a  haughty 
glance. 

"  'Make  out  that  redemption-deed,  meddler,'  said 
Gobseck  to  me,  pointing  to  his  seat  at  the  desk. 

"  '  Madame  is  no  doubt  married?  '  I  continued. 

"  She  bowed  her  head  quickly. 

"  '  I  shall  not  make  out  the  deed!  '  I  exclaimed. 

"  '  Why  not?  '  said  Gobseck. 

"  '  Why  not?  '  I  echoed,  drawing  the  old  man  to  the 
window,  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice.  '  Because,  this 
woman  being  femme  couverte,  the  deed  of  redemption 
would  be  null,  and  you  could  not  claim  ignorance  of  a 
fact  proved  by  the  deed  itself.     You  would  be  obliged 


52  Gobseck. 

to  produce  the  diamonds  deposited  in  your  hands,  the 
weight,  value,  or  cutting  of  which  are  described  in 
the  deed  — ■ ' 

"Gobseck  interrupted  rne  by  a  nod,  and  then  turned 
to  the  two  sinners. 

"  '  He  is  right,'  he  said.  '  The  terms  are  changed  — 
Eighty  thousand  francs  down,  and  you  leave  the  dia- 
monds with  me, '  adding,  in  a  muffled  tone,  '  possession 
is  nine-tenths  of  the  law  —  ' 

"  '  But  —  '  interposed  the  young  man. 

"  '  Take  it,  or  leave  it,'  said  Gobseck,  giving  the 
casket  to  the  countess.  '  I  have  too  many  risks  to 
run. ' 

"  i  Madame,'  I  whispered  in  her  ear,  '  you  would  do 
better  to  throw  yourself  on  your  husband's  mercy.' 

"  The  usurer  no  doubt  guessed  my  words  from  the 
movement  of  my  lips,  for  he  cast  a  severe  look  at  me. 
The  young  man's  face  became  livid.  The  hesitation 
of  the  countess  was  obvious.  The  count  went  closely 
up  to  her ;  and,  though  he  spoke  very  low,  I  heard  him 
say:  — 

"  '  Farewell,  my  Anastasie,  be  happy!  As  for  me, 
my  troubles  will  be  over  to-morrow. ; 

"  4  Monsieur,'  cried  the  young  woman,  addressing 
Gobseck,  '  I  accept  your  offer.' 

"  '  Well,  well! '  replied  the  old  man,  '  it  takes  a 
good  deal  to  bring  you  to  terms,  fair  lady.' 


Gobseck.  53 

"  He  drew  a  check  for  fifty  thousand  francs  on  the 
Bank  of  France,  and  gave  it  to  the  countess. 

"  4  And  now,'  he  said,  with  a  smile  like  that  of 
Voltaire,  '  I  shall  complete  the  sum  with  notes  for 
thirty  thousand  francs,  the  soundness  of  which  can- 
not be  questioned.  They  are  as  good  as  gold  itself. 
Monsieur  has  just  said  to  me:  My  notes  will  be 
paid, ' 

"  So  saying,  he  took  out  and  handed  to  the  countess 
the  notes  of  the  young  man,  protested  the  night  before 
to  several  of  his  brother  usurers,  who  had,  no  doubt, 
sold  them  to  Gobseck  at  a  low  price,  as  comparatively 
worthless.  The  young  man  uttered  a  sort  of  roar,  in 
the  midst  of  which  could  be  heard  the  words:  '  Old 
scoundrel ! ' 

"  Papa  Gobseck  did  not  move  one  muscle  of  his 
face,  but  he  took  from  a  box  a  pair  of  pistols,  and 
said,  coldly :  — 

"  '  As  the  insulted  party,  I  fire  first.' 

"  ;  Maxime,  you  owe  monsieur  an  apology,'  cried 
the  trembling  countess. 

"  '  I  did  not  intend  to  offend  you,'  stammered  the 
young  man. 

"  '  I  know  that,'  replied  Gobseck,  tranquilly;  '  you 
merely  intended  not  to  pay  your  notes.' 

"  The  countess  rose,  bowed,  and  left  the  room, 
apparently  horrified.     Monsieur  de  Trailles  was  forced 


54  Grobseck. 

to  follow  her;  but  before  be  did  so  he  turned  and 
said :  — ■ 

"  '  If  either  of  you  betray  one  word  of  this,  I  shall 
have  your  blood,  or  you  miue. ' 

"  '  Amen!  '  replied  Gobseck,  putting  away  his  pis- 
tols. '  To  risk  your  blood,  you  must  have  some,  my 
lad,  and  there  's  nothing  but  mud  in  your  veins.' 

"  When  the  outer  door  was  closed  and  the  two  car- 
riages had  driven  away,  Gobseck  rose  and  began  to 
dance  about  the  room,  crying  out :  — 

"  '  I  have  the  diamonds!  I  have  the  diamonds!  the 
fine  diamonds!  what  diamonds!  not  dear!  Ha!  ha! 
ha!  Werbrust  and  Gigonnet,  you  thought  you  'd  catch 
old  papa  Gobseck!  Ego  sum  papa  !  I  'm  the  master 
of  all  of  you!  Paid  in  full!  paid  in  full!  What  fools 
they  '11  look  to-night  when  I  tell  'em  the  affair  over 
the  dominos !  ' 

"  This  gloomy  joy,  this  ferocity  of  a  savage,  excited 
by  the  possession  of  a  few  white  pebbles,  made  me 
shudder.     I  was  speechless  and  stupefied. 

"'Ha!  ha!  there  you  are,  my  boy!  We'll  dine 
together.  We  '11  amuse  ourselves  at  your  house,  for  I 
haven't  any  home;  and  those  eating-house  fellows, 
with  their  gravies  and  sauces  and  wines,  are  fit  to 
poison  the  devil !  ' 

"  The  expression  of  my  face  seemed  to  bring  him 
back  to  his  usual  cold  impassibility. 


Gobseck.  55 


it  i 


You  can't  conceive  it,  can  you?  '  be  said,  sitting 
down  by  the  hearth,  and  putting  a  tin  sauce-pan  full 
of  milk  on  the  hob.  'Will  you  breakfast  with  me? 
There  may  be  enough  for  two. ' 

"  '  Thank  you,  no,'  I  replied.  '  I  never  breakfast 
till  twelve  o'clock.' 

"  At  that  instant  hasty  steps  were  heard  in  the  cor- 
ridor. Some  one  stopped  before  Gobseck's  door,  and 
rapped  upon  it  several  times,  with  a  sort  of  fury. 
The  usurer  looked  through  the  peep-hole  before  he 
opened  the  door,  and  admitted  a  man  about  thirty- 
live  years  of  age,  who  had,  no  doubt,  seemed  to  him 
inoffensive,  in  spite  of  his  evident  anger.  The  new- 
comer, who  was  simply  dressed,  looked  like  the  late 
Due  de  Richelieu.  It  was  the  count,  whom  you  have 
often  met,  and  who  (if  you  will  permit  the  remark) 
has  the  haughty  bearing  of  the  statesmen  of  your 
faubourg. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  he   said   to  Gobseck,  'my  wife  has 
just  left  this  house. 
Possibty. ' 

Well,  monsieur,  don't  you  understand  me?' 
I  have  not  the  honor  to  know  your  wife, '  replied 
the  usurer.  '  Many  persons  have  called  here  this 
morning:  women,  men,  girls  who  looked  like  young 
men,  and  young  men  who  looked  like  girls.  It  would 
be  difficult  foi  me  to  —  ' 


a  i 
a  i 


56  Gobseck. 

"  '  A  truce  to  jesting,  monsieur;  I  am  talking  of  the 
woman  who  has  just  left  this  house.' 

"  c  How  am  I  to  know  if  she  is  your  wife,'  said  the 
usurer,  '  inasmuch  as  I  have  never  before  had  the 
advantage  of  seeing  you?  ' 

"  '  You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur  Gobseck,'  said  the 
count,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  irony.  '  We  met  one 
morning  in  my  wife's  bedroom.  You  came  for  the 
money  of  a  note  signed  by  her, —  a  note  for  which  she 
had  not  received  the  value.' 

"  '  It  is  not  my  affair  to  know  whether  she  received 
its  value  or  not,'  replied  Gobseck,  with  a  malicious 
glance  at  the  count.  '  I  had  discounted  her  note  for 
one  of  my  brethren  in  business.  Besides,  monsieur,' 
he  added,  not  excited  or  hurried  in  speech,  and  slowly 
pouring  some  coffee  into  his  pan  of  milk,  '  you  must 
permit  me  to  remark,  I  see  no  proof  that  you  have  any 
right  to  make  these  remonstrances  in  my  house.  I 
came  of  age  in  the  year  sixty-one  of  the  last  century. ' 

"  '  Monsieur,  you  have  just  bought  family  diamonds 
which  do  not  belong  to  my  wife.' 

"  '  Without  considering  myself  obliged  to  let  you 
into  the  secrets  of  my  business,  I  must  tell  you,  Mon- 
sieur le  comte,  that  if  your  diamonds  have  been  taken 
by  Madame  la  comtesse,  you  should  have  notified  all 
jewellers  by  circular  letter  not  to  buy  them;  otherwise, 
she  may  sell  them  piecemeal.' 


Grobseck.  57 


a 


c  Monsieur,'  cried  the  count,  '  you  know  my  wife.' 

"  'Do  I?' 

"  '  She  is,  in  legal  phrase,  femme  converted 

44  '  Possibly.' 

44  '  She  has  no  legal  right  to  dispose  of  those 
diamonds.' 

"  4  True. ' 

"  4  Well,  then,  monsieur?  ' 

44  4  Well,  monsieur,  I  know  your  wife;  she  is  femme 
couvevte,  —  that  is,  under  your  control ;  so  be  it,  and 
she  is  under  other  controls  as  well ;  but  —  I  —  know 
nothing  of  —  your  diamonds.  If  Madame  la  comtesse 
signs  notes  of  hand,  she  can,  no  doubt,  do  other  busi- 
ness,—  buy  diamonds,  receive  diamonds  to  sell  again. 
That  often  happens.' 

44  '  Adieu,  monsieur,'  said  the  count,  pale  with 
anger;  '  there  are  courts  of  justice.' 

44 'True.' 

44  '  Monsieur  here,'  continued  the  count,  pointing 
to  me,  '  must  have  witnessed  the  sale.' 

44  '  Possibly.' 

44  The  count  started  to  leave  the  room.  Suddenly, 
aware  of  the  seriousness  of  the  affair,  I  interposed 
between  the  belligerent  parties. 

44  '  Monsieur  le  comte,'  I  said,  '  you  are  right,  and 
Monsieur  Gobseck  is  not  wrong.  You  could  not  sue 
him  without  bringing  your  wife  into  court,  and  all  the 


58  Gob  seek. 

odium  of  this  affair  would  fall  on  her.  I  am  a  bar- 
rister, but  I  owe  it  to  myself,  persoually,  even  more 
than  to  my  official  character,  to  tell  you  that  the  dia- 
monds of  which  you  speak  were  bought  by  Monsieur 
Gobseck  in  my  presence;  I  think,  however,  that  you 
would  do  wrong  to  contest  the  validity  of  that  sale, 
the  articles  of  which  are  never  easy  to  recognize.  In 
equity,  you  would  be  right;  legally,  you  would  fail. 
Monsieur  Gobseck  is  too  honest  a  man  to  deny  that 
this  sale  has  been  made  to  his  profit,  especially  when 
my  conscience  and  my  duty  oblige  me  to  declare  it. 
But  suppose  you  bring  a  suit,  Monsieur  le  comte,  the 
issue  would  be  very  doubtful.  I  advise  you,  there- 
fore, to  compromise  with  Monsieur  Gobseck,  who 
might  withdraw  of  his  own  good-will,  but  to  whom 
you  would,  in  any  case,  be  obliged  to  return  the 
purchase-money.  Consent  to  a  deed  of  redemption  in 
six  or  eight  months,  a  year  even,  a  period  of  time 
which  will  enable  you  to  pay  the  sum  received  by 
Madame  la  comtesse,  —  unless,  indeed,  you  would 
prefer  to  buy  the  diamonds  back  at  once,  giving 
security  for  the  payment.' 

"  The  usurer  was  sopping  his  bread  in  his  coffee, 
and  eating  his  breakfast  with  quiet  indifference ;  but 
when  I  said  the  word  compromise,  he  looked  at  me  as 
if  to  say :  — 

The  scamp !  how  he  profits  by  my  lessons !  ' 


u  i  n 


Gobseck,  59 

"  I  returned  his  look  with  a  glance  which  he  under- 
stood perfectly  well.  The  whole  affair  was  doubtful 
and  base;  it  was  necessary  to  compromise.  Gobseck 
could  not  take  refuge  in  denial,  because  I  should  tell 
the  truth.  The  count  thanked  me  with  a  friendly 
smile.  After  a  discussion,  in  which  Gobseck's  clever- 
ness and  greed  would  have  put  to  shame  the  diplomacy 
of  a  congress,  I  drew  up  a  deed,  by  which  the  count 
admitted  having  received  from  the  money-lender  the 
sum  of  eighty-five  thousand  francs,  including  interest, 
on  repayment  of  which  sum  Gobseck  bound  himself 
to  return  the  diamonds. 

"'What  hopeless  extravagance!'  cried  the  hus- 
band, as  he  signed  the  deed.  '  How  is  it  possible  to 
bridge  that  yawning  gulf?  ' 

"  '  Monsieur,'  said  Gobseck,  gravely,  '  have  you 
many  children  ?  ' 

"  That  question  made  the  count  quiver  as  if,  like  an 
able  surgeon,  the  usurer  had  laid  his  finger  suddenly 
on  the  seat  of  a  disease.  The  husband  did  not 
answer. 

"  *  Well!  '  resumed  Gobseck,  understanding  that 
painful  silence.  '  I  know  your  history  by  heart.  That 
woman  is  a  demon  whom,  perhaps,  you  still  love;  I 
am  not  surprised ;  she  moved  even  me.  But  you  may 
wish  to  save  your  fortune,  and  secure  it  to  one,  or, 
perhaps,  two  of   your  children.     Well,  cast  yourself 


60  Gobseck. 

into  the  vortex  of  society,  gamble,  appear  to  lose 
your  fortune,  and  come  and  see  Gobseck  frequently. 
The  world  will  say  that  I  am  a  Jew,  a  usurer,  a  pirate, 
and  have  ruined  you.  I  don't  care  for  that!  If  any 
one  openly  insults  me  I  can  shoot  him ;  no  one  handles 
sword  or  pistol  better  than  your  humble  servant ;  and 
everybody  knows  it.  But  find  a  friend,  if  you  can,  to 
whom  you  can  make  a  fictitious  sale  of  your  property, 
—  don't  you  call  that,  in  your  legal  tongue,  making  a 
trust?'  he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"  The  count  seemed  entirely  absorbed  by  his  own 
thoughts,  and  he  left  us,  saying  to  Gobseck :  — 

"  '  I  shall  bring  you  the  money  to-morrow;  have 
the  diamonds  ready  for  me  ? ' 

"  '  He  looks  to  me  as  stupid  as  an  honest  man,' 
said  Gobseck,  when  the  count  had  gone. 

"  ;  Say,  rather,  as  stupid  as  a  man  who  loves 
passionately.' 

"  '  The  count  is  to  pay  you  for  drawing  that  deed,' 
said  -the  old  man,  as  I  left  him. 

"  Some  days  after  these  scenes,  which  had  initiated 
me  into  the  terrible  mysteries  in  the  lives  of  fashion- 
able women,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  count  enter  my 
own  office  early  one  morning. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  he  said,  '  I  have  come  to  consult  you 
on  very  serious  interests,  assuring  you  that  I  feel  the 
most  entire  confidence  in  your  character,  —  as  I  hope 


Gobseck.  61 

to  prove  to  yon.     Your  conduct  towards  Madame  de 
Grandlieu  is  above  praise.' 

"  Thus  you  see,  Madame  la  vicomtesse,"  said  Der- 
ville,  interrupting  bis  narrative,  "  that  I  have  received 
from  you  a  thousandfold  the  value  of  a  very  simple 
action.  I  bowed  respectfully,  and  told  him  I  had 
done  no  more  than  the  duty  of  an  honest  man. 

"  '  Well,  monsieur,'  said  the  count,  '  I  have  obtained 
much  information  about  the  singular  personage  to 
whom  you  owe  your  practice.  From  all  I  hear  I  judge 
that  Gobseck  belongs  to  the  school  of  cynical  philos- 
ophers.    What  do  you  think  of  his  honesty? ' 

"  '  Monsieur  le  comte,'  I  replied,  '  Gobseck  is  my 
benefactor  —  at  fifteen  per  cent, '  I  added,  laughing. 
4  But  that  little  avarice  of  his  does  not  justify  me  in 
drawing  a  likeness  of  him  for  the  benefit  of  strangers.' 

"  i  Speak  out,  monsieur;  your  frankness  cannot 
injure  either  Gobseck  or  yourself.  I  don't  expect  to 
find  an  angel  in  a  money-lender.' 

u  'Papa  Gobseck,'  I  then  said,  '  is  profoundly  con- 
vinced of  one  principle,  which  rules  his  conduct. 
According  to  him,  money  is  merchandise  which  may, 
in  all  security  of  conscience,  be  sold  cheap  or  dear, 
according  to  circumstances.  A  capitalist  is,  in  his 
eyes,  a  man  who  enters,  by  the  rate  of  interest  which 
he  claims  for  his  money,  as  partner  by  anticipation  in 
all  enterprises  and  all  lucrative  speculations.     Apart 


62  Gobseck. 

from  these  financial  principles  and  his  philosophical 
observations  on  human  nature,  which  lead  him  to 
behave  like  a  usurer,  I  am  confidently  persuaded  that, 
outside  of  his  own  particular  business,  he  is  the  most 
upright  and  the  most  scrupulous  man  in  Paris.  (  There 
are  two  men  in  that  man :  he  is  miserly  and  philo- 
sophical; great  and  petty.  If  I  were  to  die,  leaving 
children,  I  should  make  him  their  guardian.  That, 
monsieur,  is  what  experience  has  shown  me  of 
Gobseck.  >  I  know  nothing  of  his  past  life.  He  may 
have  been  a  pirate ;  he  may  have  traversed  the  whole 
earth,  trafficking  in  diamonds  or  men,  women  or  state 
secrets;  but  I  '11  swear  that  no  human  soul  was  ever 
better  tried  or  more  powerfully  tempered.  The  day 
on  which  I  took  him  the  sum  which  paid  off  a  debt  I 
had  incurred  to  him  at  fifteen  per  cent  interest,  I  asked 
him  (not  without  some  oratorical  precautions)  what 
motive  had  led  him  to  make  me  pay  such  enormous 
interest,  and  why,  wishing,  as  he  did,  to  oblige  me, 
his  friend,  he  had  not  made  the  benefit  complete. 
"  My  son,"  he  replied,  "  I  relieved  you  of  all  gratitude 
by  giving  you  the  right  to  think  you  owed  me  noth- 
ing; consequently,  we  are  the  best  friends  in  the 
world."  That  speech,  monsieur,  will  explain  the  man 
to  you  better  than  any  possible  words  of  mine.' 

"  '  My  decision  is  irrevocably  made,'  said  the  count. 
'  Prepare  the  necessary  deeds    to  transfer  my  whole 


Gobseck.  63 

property  to  Gobseck.  I  can  rely  on  none  but  you, 
monsieur,  to  draw  up  the  counter-deed,  by  which  he 
declares  that  this  sale  is  fictitious,  and  that  he  binds 
himself  to  place  my  fortune,  administered  as  he  knows 
how  to  administer  it,  in  the  hands  of  my  eldest  son 
when  the  lad  attains  his  majority.  Now,  monsieur,  I 
am  compelled  to  make  a  statement  to  you.  I  dare  not 
keep  that  deed  in  my  own  house.  The  attachment  of 
my  son  to  his  mother  makes  me  fear  to  tell  him  of 
that  counter-deed.  May  I  ask  you  to  be  its  deposi- 
tary? In  case  of  his  death,  Gobseck  is  to  make  you 
legatee  of  m}T  property.     All  is  thus  provided  for.' 

"  The  count  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
seemed  much  agitated. 

"  '  Pardon  me,  monsieur,'  he  went  on,  l  I  suffer 
terribly;  my  health  causes  me  the  greatest  anxiety. 
Recent  troubles  have  shaken  my  vital  powers  cruelly, 
and  necessitate  the  great  step  I  am  now  taking. ' 

"  '  Monsieur,'  I  replied, l  allow  me,  in  the  first  place, 
to  thank  you  for  the  confidence  you  have  in  me.  But 
I  must  justify  it  by  pointing  out  to  you  that  by  this 
action  you  disinherit,  utterly,  your  —  other  children. 
They  bear  your  name.  Were  they  only  the  children 
of  a  woman  once  loved,  now  fallen,  they  have  a  right 
to  some  means,  at  least,  of  existence.  I  declare  to 
you  that  I  cannot  accept  the  duty  with  which  you 
honor  me,  unless  their  future  is  secured.' 


64  Gobseclc. 

"  These  words  made  the  count  tremble  violently. 
A  few  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and  he  pressed  my 
hand. 

"'I  did  not  wholly  know  you  till  this  moment,'  he 
said ;  '  you  have  just  given  me  both  pain  and  pleasure. 
We  will  fix  the  share  of  those  children  in  the  counter- 
deed.' 

"I  accompanied  him  to  the  door  of  my  office,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  his  features  relax  with 
satisfaction  at  the  sense  that  he  was  doing  an  act  of 
justice.  You  see,  now,  Camille,  how  young  women 
are  led  into  fatal  gulfs.  Sometimes  a  mere  dance,  an 
air  sung  to  a  piano,  a  day  spent  in  the  country,  lead 
to  terrible  disasters;  vanity,  pride,  trust  in  a  smile, 
folly,  giddiness,  —  all  lead  to  it.  Shame,  Remorse, 
and  Misery  are  three  Furies  into  whose  hands  all 
women  fall,  infallibly,  the  moment  they  pass  the 
limits  of  —  " 

"  My  poor  Camille  is  half -dead  with  sleep,"  said  the 
viscountess,  interrupting  Derville.  "  Go  to  bed,  my 
dear;  your  heart  doesn't  need  such  terrifying  pictures 
to  keep  it  pure  and  virtuous." 

Camille  de  Grandlieu  understood  her  mother,  and 
left  the  room. 

"  You  went  a  little  too  far,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Derville,"  said  the  viscountess.  "  Lawyers  are  not 
mothers  of  families  or  preachers." 


Gobseck.  65 

"  But  the  newspapers  tell  —  " 

"My  poor  Derville!  "  said  Madame  de  Grandlieu, 
interrupting  him,  "I  dou't  know  you!  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  my  daughter  reads  the  newspapers?  Go 
on,"  she  said,  after  a  momentary  pause. 

"  Three  days  later,  the  deeds  were  executed  by  the 
count,  in  favor  of  Gobseck  —  " 

"  You  can  call  him  the  Comte  de  Restaud,  now  that 
my  daughter  is  not  here,"  said  the  viscountess. 

"So  be  it,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  Well,  a  long  time 
passed  after  that  scene,  and  I  had  not  received  the 
counter-deed,  which  was  to  have  been  returned  to  me 
for  safe-keeping.  In  Paris,  barristers  are  so  hurried 
along  by  the  current  of  affairs  that  they  cannot  give 
to  their  clients'  interests  any  greater  attention  than 
clients  demand.  Nevertheless,  one  day  when  Gobseck 
was  dining  with  me,  I  remembered  to  ask  him  if  he 
knew  why  I  had  not  heard  anything  more  from  Mon- 
sieur de  Restaud. 

"  '  There  's  a  very  good  reason  why,'  he  answered; 
'  that  gentleman  is  dying.  He  is  one  of  those  tender 
souls  who  don't  know  how  to  kill  grief,  and  so  let 
grief  kill  them.  Life  is  a  toil,  a  trade,  and  people 
should  take  the  trouble  to  learn  it.  When  a  man 
knows  life,  having  experienced  its  pains,  his  fibre 
knits,  and  acquires  a  certain  suppleness  which  enables 
him  to  command  his  feelings;   he  makes  his  nerves 

5 


6Q  GobseeJc. 

into  steel  springs  which  bend  without  breaking.  If 
his  stomach  is  good,  a  man  can  live  as  long  as  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon,  which  are  famous  trees.' 

"  '  Will  the  count  die?' 

"  '  Possibly.  You  '11  have  a  juicy  affair  in  that 
legacy. ' 

u  I  looked  at  my  man,  and  said,  in  order  to  sound 
him,  '  Explain  to  me  why  the  count  and  I  are  the  only 
two  beings  in  whom  you  have  taken  an  interest.' 

"  '  Because  you  and  he  are  the  only  ones  who  have 
trusted  in  me  without  reservations,'  he  replied. 

"Although  this  answer  induced  me  to  suppose  that 
Gobseck  would  not  take  advantage  of  his  position  in 
case  the  counter-deed  was  lost,  I  resolved  to  go  and 
see  the  count.  After  parting  from  the  old  man,  I  went 
to  the  rue  du  Helcler,  and  was  shown  into  a  salon 
where  the  countess  was  playing  with  her  children. 
When  she  heard  my  name  announced,  she  rose  hastily 
and  came  to  meet  me ;  then  she  sat  down  without  a 
word,  and  pointed  to  an  armchair  near  the  fire.  She 
put  upon  her  face  that  impenetrable  mask  beneath 
which  women  of  the  world  know  so  well  how  to  hide 
their  passions.  Griefs  had  already  faded  that  face; 
the  exquisite  lines,  which  were  always  its  chief  merit, 
alone  remained  to  tell  of  her  beauty. 

"  '  It  is  essential,  madame,'  I  said,  '  that  I  should 
see  Monsieur  le  comte.' 


GohsecTc.  67 

"  '  Then  you  would  be  more  favored  than  I  am,' 
she  said,  interrupting  me.  i  Monsieur  de  Kestaud 
will  see  no  one;  he  will  scarcely  allow  the  doctor  to 
visit  him,  and  he  rejects  all  attentions,  even  mine. 
Such  men  are  so  fanciful!  they  are  like  children;  they 
don't  know  what  they  want.' 

"  '  Perhaps,  like  children,  they  know  exactly  what 
they  want.' 

"  The  countess  colored.  I  was  almost  sorry  for 
having  made  that  speech,  so  worthy  of  Gobseck. 

"  '  But,'  I  continued,  to  change  the  conversation, 
4  Monsieur  de  Restaud  cannot  be  always  alone,  I 
suppose. ' 

"  '  His  eldest  son  is  with  him,'  she  said. 

"I  looked  at  her;  but  this  time  she  did  not  color; 
she  seemed  to  have  strengthened  her  resolution  not  to 
give  way. 

"  '  Let  me  say,  madame,  that  my  request  is  not 
indiscreet,'  I  resumed;  '  it  is  founded  on  important 
interests  —  '  I  bit  my  lips  as  I  said  the  words,  feeling, 
too  late,  that  I  had  made  a  false  move.  The  countess 
instantly  took  advantage  of  my  heedlessness. 

"  '  My  interests  are  not  apart  from  those  of  my 
husband,'  she  said.  '  Nothing  hinders  you  from 
addressing  yourself  to  me.' 

"  '  The  affair  which  brings  me  here  concerns  Mon- 
sieur le  comte  only,'  I  replied  firmly. 


68  Gobseck. 

"  '  I  will  have  him  informed  of  your  wish  to  see 
him.' 

"  The  polite  toue  and  air  she  assumed,  as  she  said 
those  words,  did  not  deceive  me.  I  saw  plainly  she 
would  never  let  me  reach  her  husband.  I  talked  for 
a  time  on  indifferent  matters,  in  order  to  observe  her; 
but,  like  all  women  who  have  formed  a  plan,  she  could 
dissimulate  with  that  rare  perfection  which,  in  per- 
sons of  your  sex,  Madame  la  vicomtesse,  is,  in  the 
highest  degree,  treacherous.  Dare  I  say  it?  I  began 
to  apprehend  the  worst  of  her,  —  even  crime.  This 
impression  came  from  a  glimpse  into  the  future, 
revealed  by  her  gestures,  her  glance,  her  manner,  and 
even  by  the  intonations  of  her  voice.     I  left  her  — 

"And  now,  madame,"  continued  Derville,  after  a 
slight  pause,  "  I  must  give  you  a  narrative  of  the 
scenes  which  ended  this  affair,  adding  certain  circum- 
stances which  time  has  revealed  to  me,  and  certain 
details  which  Gobseck 's  perspicacity,  or  my  own, 
have  enabled  me  to  divine  — 

"As  soon  as  the  Comte  de  Restaud  appeared  to 
plunge  into  the  pleasures  of  a  gay  life,  and  seemed 
to  squander  his  money,  scenes  took  place  between 
husband  and  wife  the  secret  of  which  was  never 
divulged,  although  the  count  found  reason  to  judge 
more  unfavorably  than  ever  of  his  wife's  character. 
He  fell  ill  from  the  effects  of  this  shock,  and  took  to 


Gobseck.  69 

his  bed ;  it  was  then  that  his  aversion  to  the  countess 
and  her  two  younger  children  showed  itself.  He  for- 
bade their  entrance  into  his  room,  and  when  they 
attempted  to  elude  this  order,  their  disobedience 
brought  on  such  dangerous  excitement  in  Monsieur  de 
Restaud  that  the  doctor  conjured  the  countess  not  to 
infringe  her  husband's  orders.  Madame  de  Restaud, 
who  by  this  time  had  seen  the  landed  estates,  the 
family  property,  and  even  the  house  in  which  she 
lived  made  over,  successively,  to  Gobseck,  no  doubt 
understood,  in  a  measure,  her  husband's  real  inten- 
tions. Monsieur  de  Trailles,  then  rather  hotly  pur- 
sued by  creditors,  was  travelling  in  England.  He 
alone  could  have  made  her  fully  understand  the  secret 
precautions  which  Gobseck  had  suggested  to  the  count 
against  her.  It  is  said  that  she  resisted  affixing  her 
signature,  as  our  laws  require,  to  the  sale  of  lands; 
nevertheless,  the  count  obtained  it  in  every  instance. 
She  appears  to  have  thought  that  the  count  was  cap- 
italizing his  fortune,  and  placing  the  total  in  the 
hands  of  some  notary,  or,  possibly,  in  the  Bank. 
According  to  her  ideas,  Monsieur  de  Restaud  must 
possess  a  deed  of  some  kind  to  enable  her  eldest  son 
to  recover  a  part  at  least  of  the  landed  estate,  and 
this  deed  was  probably  now  in  the  count's  own 
custody.  She  therefore  determined  to  establish  a 
close  watch   upon   her   husband's   room.     Outside  of 


70  Crobseek. 

that  room  she  reigned  despotically  over  the  house- 
hold, which  she  now  subjected  to  the  closest  watch- 
ing. She  herself  remained  all  day  seated  in  the 
salon  adjoining  her  husband's  bedroom,  where  she 
could  hear  his  every  word  and  even  his  movements. 
At  night,  she  had  a  bed  made  up  in  the  same  room ; 
but  for  most  of  the  time  she  slept  little.  The 
doctor  was  entirely  in  her  interests.  Such  devo- 
tion seemed  admirable.  She  knew,  with  the  shrewd- 
ness natural  to  treacherous  minds,  how  to  explain  the 
repugnance  Monsieur  de  Restaud  manifested  for  her; 
and  she  played  grief  so  perfectly  that  her  conduct 
attained  to  a  sort  of  celebrity.  A  few  prudes  were 
heard  to  admit  that  she  redeemed  her  faults  by  her 
present  behavior.  She  herself  had  constantly  before 
her  eyes  the  poverty  that  awaited  her  at  the  count's 
death  should  she  lose  her  presence  of  mind  even  for 
a  moment.  Consequently,  repulsed  as  she  was  from 
the  bed  of  pain  on  which  her  husband  lay,  she  drew 
a  magic  ring  around  it.  Far  from  him,  but  near 
to  him,  deprived  of  her  functions,  but  all  powerful,  a 
devoted  wife  apparently,  she  sat  there,  watching  for 
death  and  fortune,  as  that  insect  of  the  fields,  in  the 
depths  of  the  spiral  mound  he  has  laboriously  thrown 
up,  hearkens  to  every  grain  of  dust  that  falls  while 
awaiting  his  inevitable  prey.  The  severest  censors 
could  not  deny  that   the  countess  was   carrying  the 


G-obseck.  71 

sentiment  of  motherhood  to  an  extreme.  The  death 
of  her  father  had  been,  people  said,  a  lesson  to  her. 
Adoring  her  children,  she  had  given  them  the  best 
and  most  brilliant  of  educations;  the}T  were  too  young 
to  understand  the  immoralities  of  her  life;  she  had 
been  able  to  attain  her  end,  and  make  herself  adored 
by  them.  I  admit  that  I  cannot  entirely  avoid  a 
sentiment  of  admiration  for  this  woman,  and  a  feel- 
ing of  compassion  about  which  Gobseck  never  ceased 
to  joke  me.  At  this  period,  the  countess,  who  had 
recognized,  at  last,  the  baseness  of  Maxime,  was 
expiating,  in  tears  of  blood,  the  faults  of  her  past 
life.  I  am  sure  of  this.  However  odious  were  the 
measures  which  she  took  to  obtain  her  husband's  for- 
tune, they  were  dictated  by  maternal  affection,  and 
the  desire  to  repair  the  wrong  she  had  done  to  her 
younger  children.  Each  time  that  Ernest  left  his 
father's  room,  she  subjected  him  to  close  inquiry  on 
all  the  count  had  said  and  done.  The  boy  lent  him- 
self willingly  to  his  mother's  wishes,  which  he  attrib- 
uted to  tender  feelings,  and  he  often  forestalled  her 
questions.  My  visit  was  a  flash  of  light  to  the  coun- 
tess, who  believed  she  saw  in  ine  the  agent  of  the 
count's  vengeance;  and  she  instantly  determined  not 
to  let  me  see  the  dying  man.  I  myself,  under  a 
strong  presentiment  of  coining  evil,  was  keenly  desir- 
ous to  obtain  an  interview  with  Monsieur  de  Restaud, 


72  G-obseck. 

for  I  was  not  without  anxiety  about  the  fate  of  the 
counter-deed ;  if  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  countess, 
she  might  raise  money  on  it,  and  the  result  would  be 
interminable  law-suits  between  herself  and  Gobseck. 
I  knew  the  latter  well  enough  to  be  certain  he  would 
never  restore  the  property  to  the  countess,  and  there 
were  many  elements  of  litigation  in  the  construction 
of  these  deeds,  the  carrying  out  of  which  could  only 
be  done  by  me.  Anxious  to  prevent  misfortunes  be- 
fore it  was  too  late,  I  determined  to  see  the  countess 
a  second  time. 

"  I  have  remarked,  madame,"  said  Derville  to 
Madame  de  Grandlieu,  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  that 
certain  moral  phenomena  exist  to  which  we  do  not 
pay  sufficient  attention  in  social  life.  Being  by  nature 
an  observer,  I  have  carried  into  the  various  affairs  of 
self-interest  which  come  into  my  practice,  and  in 
which  passions  play  so  vehement  a  part,  a  spirit  of 
involuntary  analysis.  Now,  I  have  always  noticed, 
with  ever-recurring  surprise,  that  the  secret  ideas  and 
intentions  of  two  adversaries  are  reciprocally  divined. 
We  sometimes  find,  in  two  enemies,  the  same  lucidity 
of  reasoning,  the  same  power  of  intellectual  sight  as 
there  is  between  two  lovers  who  can  read  each  other's 
souls.  So,  when  the  countess  and  I  were  once  more 
in  presence  of  each  other,  I  suddenly  understood  the 
cause  of  her  antipathy  to  me,  although  she  disguised 


Gob  seek.  73 

her  feelings  under  the  most  gracious  politeness  and 
amenity.  I  was  the  confidant  of  her  husband's  affairs, 
and  it  was  impossible  that  any  woman  could  avoid 
hating  a  man  before  whom  she  was  forced  to  blush. 
On  her  part,  she  guessed  that,  although  I  was  the 
man  to  whom  her  husband  gave  his  confidence,  he 
had  not  yet  given  the  charge  of  his  property  into  my 
hands.  Our  conversation  (which  I  will  spare  you) 
remains  in  my  memory  as  one  of  the  most  perilous 
struggles  in  which  I  have  ever  been  engaged.  The 
countess,  gifted  by  nature  wTith  the  qualities  neces- 
sary for  the  exercise  of  irresistible  seduction,  became, 
in  turn,  supple,  haughty,  caressing,  confidential;  she 
even  went  so  far  as  to  attempt  to  rouse  my  curiosity, 
and  even  to  excite  a  sentiment  of  love  in  order  to 
master  me ;  but  she  failed.  AVhen  I  took  leave  of  her 
I  detected,  in  her  eyes,  an  expression  of  hate  and  fury 
which  made  me  tremble.  We  parted  enemies.  She 
would  fain  have  annihilated  me,  while  I  felt  pity  for 
her,  —  a  feeling  which,  to  certain  natures,  is  the 
deepest  of  all  insults.  That  feeling  showed  itself 
plainly  in  the  last  remarks  I  made  to  her.  I  left,  as 
I  believe,  an  awful  terror  in  her  soul,  by  assuring  her 
that  in  whatever  way  she  acted  she  would  inevitably 
be  ruined. 

"  '  If  I  could  only  see  Monsieur  le  comte,'  I  said  to 
her,  '  the  future  of  your  children  — ' 


74  GobsecTc. 

"  ' 1  should  be  at  your  mercy,'  she  said,  interrupt- 
ing me  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"  The  questions  between  us  being  declared   in   so 
frank  and  positive  a  manner,  I  determined  to  go  for- 
ward in  my  own  way,  and  save  that  family  from  the 
ruin  that  awaited  it.     Resolving  to  commit  even  legal 
irregularities,  if   they   were    necessary  to   attain   my 
ends,    I   made    the    following   preparations:    First,    I 
sued  the  Comte  de  Restaud  for  a  sum  fictitiously  due 
to  Gobseck,   and  obtained  a  judgment  against  him. 
The  countess  concealed  this  proceeding;  but  it  gave 
me  the  legal  right  to  affix  seals  to  the  count's  room 
on  his  death,  which  was,  of  course,  my  object.     Next, 
I  bribed  one  of  the  servants  of  the  house,  and  made 
him  promise  to  notify  me  the  moment  that  his  master 
appeared  to  be  dying,  were  it  even  in  the  middle  of 
the  night;  I  did  this,  in  order  that  I  might  reach  the 
house  suddenly,  frighten  the  countess  by  threatening 
to  affix  the  seals  instantly,  and  so  get  possession  of 
the    counter-deed.       I    heard,    afterwards,    that    this 
woman  was  studying  the  Code  while  she  listened  to 
the   moans    of   her   dying   husband.     What   frightful 
pictures  might  be  made  of  the  souls  of  those  who  sur- 
round some  death-beds,  if  we  could  only  paint  ideas! 
And  money  is  always  the  mover  of  the  intrigues  there 
elaborated,   the   plans  there   formed,    the   plots   there 
laid!     Let  us  now  turn  from  these  details,  irksome, 


Gobseck.  75 

indeed,  though  they  may  have  enabled  you  to  see  the 
wretchedness  of  this  woman,  that  of  her  husband,  and 
the  secrets  of  other  homes  under  like  circumstances. 
For  the  last  two  months,  the  Comte  de  Restaud, 
resigned  to  die,  lay  alone  on  his  bed,  in  his  own 
chamber.  A  mortal  disease  was  slowly  sapping  both 
mind  and  body.  A  victim  to  those  sick  fancies  the 
caprices  of  which  appear  inexplicable,  he  objected  to 
the  cleaning  of  his  room,  refused  all  personal  cares, 
and  even  insisted  that  no  one  should  make  his  bed. 
A  sort  of  apathy  took  possession  of  him ;  the  furni- 
ture was  in  disorder,  dust  and  cobwebs  lay  thick  on 
the  delicate  ornaments.  Formerly  choice  and  luxuri- 
ous in  his  tastes,  he  now  seemed  to  take  pleasure 
in  the  melancholy  spectacle  of  his  room,  where  the 
chimney-piece  and  chairs  and  tables  were  encum- 
bered with  articles  required  by  illness, —  phials,  empty 
or  full,  and  nearly  all  dirty,  soiled  linen,  broken 
plates;  a  warming-pan  was  before  the  fire,  and  a  tub, 
still  full  of  some  mineral  water.  The  sentiment  of 
destruction  was  expressed  in  every  detail  of  this 
miserable  chaos.  Death  loomed  up  in  things  before 
it  invaded  the  person.  The  count  had  a  horror  of 
daylight ;  the  outer  blinds  of  the  windows  were  closed, 
and  this  enforced  darkness  added  to  the  gloom  of  the 
melancholy  place.  The  sick  man  was  shrunken,  but 
his  eyes,  in  which  life  appeared  to  have  taken  refuge, 


76  G-obseck. 

were  still  brilliant.  The  livid  whiteness  of  his  face 
had  something  horrible  about  it,  increased  by  the 
extraordinary  length  of  his  hair,  which  he  refused  to 
have  cut,  so  that  it  now  hung  in  long,  straight  meshes 
beside  his  face.  He  bore  some  resemblance  to  the 
fanatical  hermits  of  a  desert.  Grief  had  extinguished 
all  other  human  feelings  in  this  man,  who  was  barely 
fifty  years  of  age,  and  whom  Paris  had  once  known 
so  brilliant  and  so  happy.  One  morning,  about  the 
beginning  of  December,  in  the  year  1824,  he  looked 
at  his  son  Ernest,  who  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  his 
bed,  watching  him  sadly:  — 

"  '  Are  you  in  pain,  papa?  '  asked  the  lad. 

"  '  No,'  he  said,  with  a  frightful*  smile;  '  it  is  all 
here  and  there,'  —  he  pointed  first  to  his  head,  and 
then  pressed  his  fleshless  fingers  on  his  heart,  with  a 
gesture  that  made  Ernest  weep. 

"  '  Why  does  not  Mousieur  Derville  come  to  me?  ' 
he  said  to  his  valet,  whom  he  thought  attached  to  him, 
but  who  was  really  in  the  interests  of  the  countess. 
4  Maurice,'  cried  the  dying  man,  suddenly  sitting  up, 
and  seeming  to  recover  his  presence  of  mind,  '  I 
have  sent  you  seven  or  eight  times  to  my  lawyer, 
within  the  last  fortnight;  why  does  n't  he  come?  Do 
you  think  some  one  is  tricking  me?  Go  and  get  him 
instantly,  and  bring  him  back  with  you.  If  you  don't 
execute  my  orders,  I  '11  get  up  myself  and  go  —  ' 


GobsecJc.  77 

"  '  Madame,'  said  the  valet,  going  into  the  salon, 
*  you  have  heard  Monsieur  le  comte ;  what  am  I  to 
do?' 

"  [  Pretend  to  go  to  that  lawyer,  and  then  come 
back  and  say  to  Monsieur  le  comte  that  his  man  of 
business  has  gone  a  hundred  miles  into  the  country, 
to  try  an  important  case.  You  can  add  that  he 
is  expected  back  the  last  of  the  week.  Sick  men 
always  deceive  themselves  about  their  state,'  she 
thought;  ;  he  will  wait  for  the  lawyer's  return.' 

"  The  doctor  had  that  morning  told  her  that  the 
count  could  scarcely  survive  the  day.  When,  two 
hours  later,  the  valet  brought  back  this  discouraging 
message,  the  count  was  greatly  agitated. 

"  '  My  God!  my  God!  '  he  repeated  many  times. 
1  I  have  no  hope  but  in  thee !  ' 

"  He  looked  at  his  son  for  a  long  while,  and  said  to 
him,  at  last,  in  a  feeble  voice:  — 

"  '  Ernest,  my  child,  you  are  very  young,  but  you 
have  a  good  heart,  and  you /will  surely  comprehend  the 
sacredness  of  a  promise  made  to  a  dying  man,  —  to  a 
father.  Do  you  feel  capable  of  keeping  a  secret? 
of  burying  it  in  your  own  breast,  so  that  even  your 
mother  shall  not  suspect  it?  My  son,  there  is  no  one 
but  you  in  this  house  whom  I  can  trust.  You  will  not 
betray  my  confidence  ? ' 

"  '  No,  father.' 


78  Gobseek. 


a  i 


Then,  Ernest,  I  shall  give  you,  presently,  a 
sealed  package  which  belongs  to  Monsieur  Derville; 
you  must  keep  it  in  such  a  way  that  no  one  can  know 
you  have  it;  you  must  then  manage  to  leave  the  house, 
and  throw  the  package  into  the  post-office  box  at  the 
end  of  the  street. ' 

"  '  Yes,  father/ 

"  *  Can  I  rely  upon  you?  ' 

"  'Yes,  father.' 

"  '  Then  kiss  me.  You  make  my  death  less  bitter, 
dear  child.  In  six  or  seven  years  you  will  understand 
the  importance  of  this  secret,  —  you  will  then  be 
rewarded  for  your  faithfulness  and  dexterity,  and  you 
will  also  know,  my  son,  how  much  I  have  loved  you. 
Leave  me  now,  for  a  moment,  and  watch  that  no  one 
enters  this  room.' 

"Ernest  went  out,  and  found  his  mother  standing: 
in  the  salon. 

"  4  Ernest,'  she  said,  '  come  here.' 

"She  sat  down,  and  held  her  son  between  her  knees, 
pressing  him  to  her  heart,  and  kissing  him. 

"  'Ernest,'  she  said,  '  your  father  has  been  talking 
to  you.' 

"  '  Yes,  mamma.' 

"  '  What  did  he  say  to  you?  ' 

'"I  cannot  repeat  it,  mamma.' 

"  '  Oh!  my  dear  child,'  cried  the  countess,  kissing 


Gobseck.  79 

him  with  enthusiasm,  '  how  much  pleasure  your  dis- 
cretion gives  me.  Tell  the  truth,  and  always  be  faith- 
ful to  your  word:  those  are  two  principles  you  must 
never  forget.' 

"  '  Oh!  how  noble  you  are,  mamma;  you  were  never 
false,  you!  —  of  that  I  am  sure.' 

"  '  Sometimes,  Ernest,  I  have  been  false.  Yes,  I 
have  broken  my  word  under  circumstances  before 
which  even  laws  must  yield.  Listen,  my  Ernest,  you 
are  now  old  enough  and  sensible  enough  to  see  that 
your  father  repulses  me,  and  rejects  my  care;  this  is 
not  natural,  for  you  know,  my  son,  how  I  love  him.' 

"  '  Yes,  mamma.' 

"  '  My  poor  child,'  continued  the  countess,  weeping, 
1  this  misfortune  is  the  result  of  treacherous  insinua- 
tions. Wicked  people  have  sought  to  separate  me 
from  your  father,  in  order  to  satisfy  their  own 
cupidity.  They  want  to  deprive  us  of  our  property 
and  keep  it  themselves.  If  your  father  were  well  the 
separation  now  between  us  would  cease;  he  would 
listen  to  me ;  you  know  how  good  and  loving  he  is ; 
he  would  recognize  his  error.  But,  as  it  is,  his  mind 
is  weakened,  the  prejudice  he  has  taken  against  me 
has  become  a  fixed  idea,  a  species  of  mania,  —  the 
effect  of  his  disease.  The  preference  your  father 
shows  for  you  is  another  proof  of  the  derangement  of 
his  faculties.     You  never  noticed  before  his  illness, 


80  Gobseck. 

that  he  cared  less  for  Pauline  and  Georges  than  for 
you.  It  is  a  mere  caprice  on  his  part.  The  tender- 
ness he  now  feels  for  you  may  suggest  to  him  to  give 
you  orders  to  execute.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  ruin 
your  family,  my  dear  boy,  if  you  would  not  see  your 
mother  begging  her  bread  like  a  pauper,  you  must  tell 
her  everything  —  ' 

"  '  Ah!  ah!  '  cried  the  count,  who,  having  opened 
the  door,  appeared  to  them  suddenly,  half  naked, 
already  as  dry  and  fleshless  as  a  skeleton.  That  hol- 
low cry  produced  a  terrible  effect  upon  the  countess, 
who  remained  motionless,  rigid,  and  half  stupefied. 
Her  husband  was  so  gaunt  and  pale,  he  looked  as  if 
issuing  from  a  grave. 

"  '  You  have  steeped  my  life  in  misery,  and  now 
you  seek  to  embitter  my  death,  to  pervert  the  mind  of 
my  son,  and  make  him  a  vicious  man!  '  cried  the 
count,  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  The  countess  flung  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  dying 
man,  whom  these  last  emotions  of  his  waning  life 
made  almost  hideous,  and  burst  into  a  torrent  of 
tears. 

"  '  Mercy!  mercy!  '  she  cried. 

"  '  Have  you  had  pity  for  me?  '  he  asked.  '  I 
allowed  you  to  squander  your  own  fortune;  would 
you  now  squander  mine,  and  ruin  my  son?' 

Ah  !  yes,  no  pity  for  me!  yes,  be  inflexible!  but 


U   i 


GobsecJc.  81 

the  children !  Condemn  your  widow  to  a  convent,  and 
I  will  obey  you ;  I  will  expiate  my  faults  by  doing  all 
you  order ;  but  let  the  children  prosper  !  the  children  ! 
the  children !  ' 

"  '  I  have  but  one  child,'  replied  the  count,  stretch- 
ing his  fleshless  arm,  with  a  despairing  gesture,  to  his 
son. 

"  '  Pardon!  I  repent!  I  repent!  '  cried  the  coun- 
tess, clasping  the  cold,  damp  feet  of  her  husband. 
Sobs  hindered  her  from  speaking;  only  vague,  inco- 
herent words  could  force  their  way  from  her  burning 
throat. 

"  '  After  what  you  have  just  said  to  Ernest  do  you 
dare  to  talk  of  repentance? '  said  the  dying  man,  free- 
ing his  feet,  and  throwing  over  the  countess  in  doing 
so.  '  You  shock  me,'  he  added,  with  an  indifference 
in  which  there  was  something  awful.  (l  You  were  a 
bad  daughter,  you  have  been  a  bad  wife,  you  will  be 
a  bad  mother.' 

"  The  unhappy  woman  fainted  as  she  lay  there. 
The  dying  man  returned  to  his  bed,  lay  down,  and 
lost  consciousness  soon  after.  The  priests  came  to 
administer  the  sacraments.  He  died  at  midnight,  the 
scene  of  the  morning  having  exhausted  his  remaining 
strength.  I  reached  the  house,  together  with  papa 
Gobseck,  half  an  hour  later.  Thanks  to  the  excite- 
ment that  prevailed,  we  entered  the  little  salon,  next 

6 


82  Gobsech. 

to  the  death-chamber,  unnoticed.  There  we  found  the 
three  children  in  tears,  between  two  priests,  who  were 
to  pass  the  night  with  the  body.  Ernest  came  to  me, 
and  said  that  his  mother  wished  to  be  alone,  in  the 
count's  chamber. 

"  '  Do  not  enter,'  he  said,  with  an  exquisite  expres- 
sion of  tone  and  gesture.     '  She  is  praying.' 

"Gobseck  laughed,  that  silent  laugh  peculiar  to 
him.  I  was  far  too  moved  by  the  feeling  that  shone 
on  the  boy's  young  face  to  share  the  old  man's  irony. 
When  Ernest  saw  us  going  to  the  door,  he  ran  to  it, 
and  called  out:  — 

"  *  Mamma !  here  are  some  black  men  looking  for 
you.' 

"  Gobseck  lifted  the  child  as  if  he  were  a  feather, 
and  opened  the  door.  What  a  sight  now  met  our 
eyes!  Frightful  disorder  reigned  in  the  room.  Di- 
shevelled by  despair,  her  eyes  flashing,  the  countess 
stood  erect,  speechless,  in  the  midst  of  clothes,  papers, 
articles  of  all  kinds.  Horrible  confusion  in  the 
presence  of  death !  Hardly  had  the  count  expired, 
before  his  wife  had  forced  the  drawers  and  the  desk. 
Round  her,  on  the  carpet,  lay  fragments  of  all  kinds, 
torn  papers,  portfolios  broken  open,  —  all  bearing  the 
marks  of  her  daring  hands.  If,  at  first,  her  search  had 
been  in  vain,  something  in  her  attitude  and  the  sort 
of  agitation  that  possessed  her  made  me  think   she 


Gobseck.  83 

had  ended  by  discovering  the  mysterious  papers.  I 
turned  iny  eyes  to  the  bed,  and,  with  the  instinct  that 
practice  in  our  profession  gives  me,  I  divined  what 
had  happened.  The  count's  body  was  rolled  to  the 
wall,  and  lay  half  across  the  bed,  the  nose  to  the 
mattress,  disdainfully  tossed  aside,  like  the  envelopes 
lying  on  the  floor.  His  inflexible,  stiffening  limbs 
gave  him  an  appearance  grotesquely  horrible.  The 
dying  man  had  no  doubt  hidden  the  counter-deed 
under  his  pillow,  in  order  to  preserve  it  from  danger, 
while  he  lived.  The  countess,  baffled  in  her  search, 
must  have  divined  her  husband's  thought  at  last;  in 
fact,  it  seemed  revealed  by  the  convulsive  form  of  his 
hooked  fingers.  The  pillow  was  flung  upon  the  ground ; 
the  imprint  of  the  wife's  foot  was  still  upon  it;  beside 
it,  and  just  before  her,  where  she  stood,  I  saw  an 
envelope  with  many  seals,  bearing  the  count's  arms. 
This  I  picked  hastily  up,  and  read  a  direction,  showing 
that  the  contents  of  that  envelope  had  been  intended 
for  me.  I  knew  what  they  were!  I  looked  fixedly  at 
the  countess,  with  the  stern  intelligence  of  a  judge  who 
examines  a  guilty  person.  A  fire  on  the  hearth  was 
licking  up  the  remains  of  the  papers.  When  she  saw 
us  enter,  the  countess  had  doubtless  flung  the  deed  into 
it,  believing  (perhaps  from  its  first  formal  words)  that 
she  was  destroying  a  will  that  deprived  her  younger 
children   of   their   property.     A  tortured  conscience, 


84  Gobseek. 

and  the  involuntary  fear  inspired  by  the  commission 
of  a  crime,  had  taken  from  her  all  power  of  reflection. 
Finding  herself  caught  almost  in  the  act,  she  may 
have  fancied  she  already  felt  the  branding  iron  of  the 
galleys.  The  woman  stood  there,  panting,  as  she 
awaited  our  first  words,  and  looking  at  us  with  haggard 
eyes. 

"  '  Ah!  madame,'  I  said,  taking  from  the  hearth 
a  fragment  which  the  fire  had  not  wholly  consumed, 
'  you  have  ruined  your  younger  children!  These 
papers  secured  their  property  to  them.' 

"  Her  mouth  stirred,  as  if  she  were  about  to  have  a 
paralytic  fit. 

"  '  He  !  he  !  '  cried  Gobseek,  whose  exclamation  had 
the  effect  produced  by  the  pushing  of  a  brass  candle- 
stick on  a  bit  of  marble.  After  a  slight  pause,  he 
said  to  me,  calmly :  > — 

"  '  Do  you  want  to  make  Madame  la  comtesse  be- 
lieve that  I  am  not  the  sole  and  legitimate  possessor  of 
the  property  sold  to  me  by  Monsieur  le  comte  ?  This 
house  belongs  to  me  henceforth.' 

u  The  blow  of  a  club  applied  suddenly  to  my  head 
could  not  have  caused  me  greater  pain  ,or  more  sur- 
prise. The  countess  observed  the  puzzled  glance 
which  I  cast  on  the  old  man. 

"  '  Monsieur!  monsieur!  '  she  said  to  him;  but  she 
could  find  no  other  words  than  those. 


G-obseck.  85 

"  '  Have  you  a  deed  of  trust? '  I  said  to  Mm. 

"'Possibly.' 

"  '  Do  you  iuteud  to  take  advantage  of  the  crime 
which  madame  has  committed  ?  ' 

"  '  Precisely.' 

"  I  left  the  house,  leaving  the  countess  sitting  by 
her  husband's  bedside,  weeping  hot  tears.  Gobseck 
followed  me.  When  we  reached  the  street  I  turned 
away  from  him ;  but  he  came  to  me,  and  gave  me  one 
of  those  piercing  looks  with  which  he  sounded  hearts, 
and  said,  with  his  fluty  voice,  in  its  sharpest  tone:  — 

"  '  Do  you  pretend  to  judge  me? ' 

"After  that  I  saw  but  little  of  him.  He  let  the 
count's  house  in  Paris,  and  spent  the  summers  on  the 
Restaud  estates  in  the  country,  where  he  played 
the  lord,  constructed  farms,  repaired  mills,  built 
roads,  and  planted  trees.  I  met  him  one  day  in  the 
Tuileries  gardens. 

"  '  The  countess  is  living   an  heroic  life,'  I  said. 
'  She  devotes  herself  wholly  to  the  education  of  her 
children,  whom  she  is  bringing  up  admirably.     The 
eldest  is  a  fine  fellow.' 
Possibly.' 

But,'  I  said,  '  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  help 
Ernest? ' 

"'Help  Ernest!'  he  cried.  'No!  Misfortune  is 
our  greatest  teacher.     Misfortune  will  teach  him  the 


86  Gobseck. 

value  of  money,  of  men,  and  of  women,  too.  Let  him 
navigate  the  Parisian  sea!  When  he  has  learned  to 
be  a  good  pilot  it  will  be  soon  enough  to  give  him  a 
ship.' 

"I   left    him   without    further    explanation   of   the 
meaning    of    those    words.      Though    Monsieur    de 
Eestaud,  to  whom  his  mother  has  no  doubt  imparted 
her  own  repugnance  to  me,  is  far,  indeed,  from  tak- 
ing me  for  his  counsel,  I  went,  two  weeks  ago,  to 
Gobseck,  and  told  him  of  Ernest's  love  for  Made- 
moiselle  Camille,  and   urged   him  to  make  ready  to 
accomplish   his   trust,  inasmuch  as  the  young  count 
has  almost  reached   his   majority.     I  found   the   old 
man  had  been  confined  for  a  long  time  to  his  bed, 
suffering  from  a  disease  which  was  about  to  carry  him 
off.     He  declined  to  answer  until  he  was  able  to  get  up 
and  attend  to  business,  —  unwilling,  no  doubt,  to  give 
up  a  penny  while  the  breath  of  life  was  in  him;  his 
delay  could  have  no  other  motive.     Finding  him  very 
much  worse  than  he  thought  himself,  I  stayed  with 
him  for  some  time,  and  was  thus  able  to  observe  the 
progress  of  a  passion  which  age  had  converted  into  a 
species  of  mania.     In  order  to  have  no  one  in  the 
house  he  occupied,  he  had  become  the  sole  tenant  of 
it,  leaving  all  the  other  apartments  unoccupied.    Noth- 
ing was  changed  in  the  room  in  which  he  lived.     The 
furniture,  which  I  had  known  so  well  for  sixteen  years, 


Gobseck.  87 

seemed  to  have  been  kept  under  glass,  so  exactly  the 
same  was  it.  His  old  and  faithful  portress,  married 
to  an  old  soldier  who  kept  the  lodge  while  she  went 
up  to  do  her  master's  work,  was  still  his  housekeeper, 
and  was  now  fulfilling  the  functions  of  a  nurse.  Not- 
withstanding his  weak  condition,  Gobseck  still  re- 
ceived his  clients  and  his  revenues;  and  he  had  so 
carefully  simplified  his  business  that  a  few  messages 
sent  by  the  old  soldier  were  sufficient  to  regulate  his 
external  affairs.  At  the  time  of  the  treaty  by  which 
France  recognized  the  republic  of  Hayti,  the  knowl- 
edge possessed  by  Gobseck  of  the  former  fortunes  of 
San  Domingo  and  the  colonists,  the  assigns  of  whom 
were  claiming  indemnity,  caused  him  to  be  appointed 
member  of  the  commission  instituted  to  determine  these 
rights,  and  adjust  the  payments  due  from  the  Haytian 
government.  Gobseck' s  genius  led  him  to  establish 
an  agency  for  discounting  the  claims  of  the  colonists 
and  their  heirs  and  assigns  under  the  names  of 
Werbrust  and  Gigonnet,  with  whom  he  shared  all 
profits  without  advancing  any  money,  his  knowledge 
of  these  matters  constituting  his  share  in  the  enter- 
prise. This  agency  was  like  a  distillery,  which  threw 
out  the  claims  of  ignorant  persons,  distrustful  per- 
sons, or  those  whose  rights  could  be  contested.  As 
member  of  the  commission,  Gobseck  negotiated  with 
the  large  proprietors,  who,  either  to  get  their  claims 


88  Grobseck. 

valued  at  a  high  figure,  or  to  have  them  speedily 
admitted,  offered  him  gifts  in  proportion  to  the  sums 
involved. 

These  presents  constituted  a  sort  of  discount 
on  the  sums  he  could  not  lay  hands  on  himself; 
moreover,  this  agency  gave  him,  at  a  low  price,  the 
claims  of  petty  owners,  or  timid  owners,  who  pre- 
ferred an  immediate  payment,  small  as  the  sum  might 
be,  to  the  chance  of  uncertain  payments  from  the 
republic.  Gobseck  was  therefore  the  insatiable  boa- 
constrictor  of  this  great  affair.  Every  morning  he 
received  his  tribute,  and  looked  it  over  as  the  minister 
of  a  pacha  might  have  clone  before  deciding  to  sign  a 
pardon.  Gobseck  took  all  things, —  from  the  game- 
bag  of  some  poor  devil,  and  the  pound  of  candles  of 
a  timorous  soul,  to  the  plate  of  the  rich,  and  the  gold 
snuff-boxes  of  speculators.  No  one  knew  what  be- 
came of  these  presents  made  to  the  old  usurer.  All 
things  went  in  to  him,  nothing  came  out :  — 

"  '  On  the  word  of  an  honest  woman,'  the  portress, 
an  old  acquantance  of  mine,  said  to  me,  *  I  believe  he 
swallows  'em!  But  that  don't  make  him  fat,  for  he  's 
as  lank  as  the  pendulum  of  my  clock.' 

"  Last  Monday  Gobseck  sent  the  old  soldier  to 
fetch  me. 

"  '  Make  haste,  Monsieur  Derville,'  said  the  man  as 
he  entered  my  office;  '  the  master  is  going  to  give  in 


Gobseck.  89 

his  last  account.  He's  as  yellow  as  a  lemon;  and 
he  's  very  impatient  to  see  you.  Death  has  got  him; 
the  last  rattle  growls  in  his  throat. ' 

"  When  I  entered  the  chamber  of  the  dying  man,  I 
found  him  on  his  knees  before  the  fireplace,  where, 
though  there  was  no  fire,  an  enormous  heap  of  ashes 
lay.  Gobseck  had  crawled  to  it  from  his  bed,  but 
strength  to  return  had  failed  him,  also  the  voice  with 
which  to  call  for  assistance. 

"  '  My  old  friend,'  I  said,  lifting  him,  and  helping 
him  to  regain  his  bed,  '  you  will  take  cold ;  why  don't 
you  have  a  fire?  ' 

"  '  I  'm  not  cold,'  he  answered.     *  No  fire!  no  fire! 

—  I'm  going  I  don't  know  where,  boy,'  he  went  on, 

giving  me   his   last  blank,  chilling  look;  '  but  it  is 

away  from  here!     I've  got  the  carphology ,'  using  a 

J 

term  which  made7  me  see  how  clear  and  precise  his 
intellect  still  was.  '  I  thought  my  room  was  full  of 
living  gold,  and  I  got  up  to  get  some.  To  whom  will 
mine  go?  I  won't  let  the  government  get  it.  I've 
made  a  will;  find  it,  Grotius.  The  belle  Hollandaise 
had  a  daughter  that  I  saw  somewhere;  I  don't  know 
where  —  in  the  rue  Vivienne,  one  evening.  I  think 
they  call  her  "La  Torpille,"  —  she's  pretty;  find  her, 
Grotius.  You  are  the  executor  of  my  will;  take  what 
you  want;  eat  it;  there  's  pates  de  foie  gras,  bags  of 
coffee,  sugar,  gold  spoons.     Give  the  Odiot  service  to 


90  Gobseck. 

your  wife.  But  who's  to  have  the  diamonds?  Do 
you  care  for  them,  boy?  There  's  tobacco;  sell  it  in 
Hamburg;  it  will  bring  half  as  much  again.  I've  got 
everything !  and  I  must  leave  it  all !  Come,  come, 
papa  Gobseck,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  no  weakness!  be 
yourself. ' 

"  He  sat  up  in  bed,  his  face  clearly  defined  against 
the  pillow  like  a  piece  of  bronze;  he  stretched  his 
withered  arm  and  bony  hand  upon  the  coverlet,  which 
he  grasped  as  if  to  hold  himself  from  going.  [  He 
looked  at  his  hearth,  cold  as  his  own  metallic  eye ;  and 
he  died  with  his  mind  clear,  presenting  to  his  portress, 
the  old  soldier,  and  me,  an  image  of  those  old  Romans 
standing  behind  the  Consuls,  such  as  Lethiere  has 
depicted  them  in  his  painting  of  the  '  Death  of  the 
Sons  of  Brutus.' 

"'Hasn't  he  grit,  that  old  Lascar!'  said  the 
soldier,  in  barrack  language. 

"I  still  seemed  to  hear  the  fantastic  enumeration 
that  the  dying  man  had  made  of  his  possessions,  and 
my  glance,  which  had  followed  his,  again  rested  on 
that  heap  of  ashes,  the  immense  size  of  which  sud- 
denly struck  me.  I  took  the  tongs,  and  when  I  thrust 
them  into  the  mound,  they  struck  upon  a  hoard  of  gold 
and  silver,  —  no  doubt  the  fruit  of  his  last  receipts, 
which  his  weakness  had  prevented  him  from  hiding 
elsewhere. 


GobsecJc.  91 

r  '  Go  for  the  justice-of-peace,'  I  said,  '  and  let  the 
seals  be  put  on  at  once. ' 

"  Moved  by  Gobseck's  last  -words,  and  by  some- 
thing the  portress  had  told  me,  I  took  the  keys  of  the 
other  apartments,  in  order  to  inspect  them.  In  the 
first  room  I  entered  I  found  the  explanation  of  words 
I  had  supposed  delirious.  Before  my  eyes  were  the 
effects  of  an  avarice  in  wrhich  nought  remained  but 
that  illogical  instinct  of  hoarding  which  we  see  in 
provincial  misers.  J  In  the  room  adjoining  that  where 
Gobseck  lay  were  mouldy  patties,  a  mass  of  eatables 
of  all  kinds,  shell-fish,  and  other  fish,  now  rotten,  the 
various  stenches  of  which  almost  asphyxiated  me. 
Maggots  and  insects  swarmed  there.  These  presents, 
recently  made,  were  lying  among  boxes  of  all  shapes, 
chests  of  tea,  bags  of  coffee.  On  the  fireplace,  in  a 
silver  soup  tureen,  were  bills  of  lading  of  merchan- 
dise consigned  to  him  at  Havre:  bales  of  cotton,  hogs- 
heads of  sugar,  barrels  of  rum,  coffees,  indigos,  tobacco, 
—  an  absolute  bazaar  of  colonial  products!  The 
room  was  crowded  with  articles  of  furniture,  silver- 
ware, lamps,  pictures,  vases,  books,  fine  engravings, 
without  frames  or  rolled  up,  and  curiosities  of  various 
descriptions.  Possibly  this  enormous  mass  of  prop- 
erty of  all  kinds  did  not  come  wholly  as  gifts ;  part  of 
it  may  have  been  taken  in  pledge  for  debts  unpaid. 
I   saw  jewel-cases    stamped  with   armorial   bearings, 


92  Gobseck. 

sets  of  the  finest  damask,  valuable  weapons,  but  all 
without  names.  Opening  a  book,  which  seemed  to  me 
rather  out  of  place,  I  found  in  it  a  number  of  thousand- 
franc  notes.  I  resolved,  therefore,  to  examine  the 
most  insignificant  articles, — to  search  the  floors,  the 
ceilings,  the  cornices,  the  walls,  and  find  every  frag- 
ment of  that  gold  so  passionately  loved  by  the  old 
Dutchman,  who  was  worthy,  indeed,  of  Rembrandt's 
pencil.  I  have  never  seen,  throughout  my  legal  life, 
such  effects  of  avarice  and  originality.  When  I  re- 
turned to  his  own  chamber,  I  found,  on  his  desk,  the 
reason  of  this  progressive  heaping  up  of  riches. 
Under  a  paper-weight  was  a  correspondence  between 
Gobseck  and  the  merchants  to  whom,  no  doubt,  he 
habitually  sold  his  presents.  );  Now  whether  it  was 
that  these  dealers  were  the  victims  of  his  astuteness, 
or  that  Gobseck  wanted  too  high  a  price  for  his  pro- 
visions and  manufactured  articles,  it  was  evident  that 
each  negotiation  was  suspended.  He  had  not  sold 
the  comestibles  to  Chevet  because  Chevet  would  only 
take  them  at  a  reduction  of  thirty  per  cent.  Gobseck 
haggled  for  a  few  extra  francs,  and,  meantime,  the 
goods  became  damaged.  As  for  the  silver,  he  refused 
to  pay  the  costs  of  transportation;  neither  would  he 
make  good  the  wastage  on  his  coffees.  In  short,  every 
article  had  given  rise  to  squabbles  which  revealed  in 
Gobseck  the  first  symptoms  of  that  childishness,  that 


Gobseclc.  93 

incomprehensible  obstinacy  which  old  men  fall  into 
whenever  a  strong  passion  survives  the  vigor  of  their 
minds.     I  said  to  myself,  as  he  had  said :  — 

"  '  To  whom  will  all  this  wealth  go?  ' 

"Thinking  over  the  singular  information  he  had 
given  me  about  his  only  heiress,  I  saw  that  I  should 
be  compelled  to  ransack  every  questionable  house  in 
Paris,  in  order  to  cast  this  enormous  fortune  at  the 
feet  of  a  bad  woman.  But  —  what  is  of  far  more 
importance  to  us  —  let  me  now  tell  you,  that,  accord- 
ing to  deeds  drawn  up  in  due  form,  Comte  Ernest  de 
Restaud  will,  in  a  few  days,  come  into  possession  of  a 
fortune  which  will  enable  him  to  marry  Mademoiselle 
Camille,  and  also  to  give  a  sufficient  dowry  to  his 
mother,  and  to  portion  his  brother  and  sister 
suitably." 

"Well,  dear  Monsieur  Derville,  we  will  think  about 
it,"  replied  Madame  de  Grandlieu.  "Monsieur  Ernest 
ought  to  be  very  rich  to  make  a  family  like  ours 
accept  his  mother.  Remember  that  my  son  will  one 
day  be  Due  de  Grandlieu,  and  will  unite  the  fortunes 
of  the  two  Grandlieu  houses.  I  wish  him  to  have  a 
brother-in-law  to  his  taste." 

"But,"  said  the  Comte  de  Born,  "Restaud  bears 
gules,  a  barre  argent,  with  four  inescutcheons  or, 
each  charged  with  a  cross  sable.  It  is  a  very  old 
blazon." 


94  Gobseck. 

"  True,"  said  the  viscountess.  "Besides,  Camille 
need  never  see  her  mother-in-law,  who  turned  the  Res 
tuta  —  the  motto  of  that  blazon,  brother  —  to  a  lie." 

"  Madame  de  Beauseant  received  Madame  de 
Restaud,"    said  the  old  uncle. 

"Yes,  but  only  at  her  routs,"  replied  the  viscountess. 


THE 
SECRETS  OF  THE  PRINCESSE  DE  CADIGNAN. 


THE    SECRETS 


OF    THE 


PRINCESSE    DE    CADIGNAN. 


TO   THEOPHILE   GAUTIER. 


I. 

THE    LAST    WORD    OF    TWO    GREAT    COQUETTES. 

After  the  disasters  of  the  revolution  of  July,  which 
destroyed  so  many  aristocratic  fortunes  dependent 
on  the  court,  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Cadignan  was 
clever  enough  to  attribute  to  political  events  the  total 
ruin  she  had  caused  by  her  own  extravagance.  The 
prince  left  France  with  the  royal  family,  and  never 
returned  to  it,  leaving  the  princess  in  Paris,  protected 
by  the  fact  of  his  absence;  for  their  debts,  which  the 
sale  of  all  their  salable  property  had  not  been  able  to 
extinguish,  could  only  be  recovered  through  him.  The 
revenues  of  the  entailed  estates  had  been  seized.     In 

7 


98      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

short,  the  affairs  of  this  great  family  were  in  as  bad  a 
state  as  those  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Bourbons. 

This  woman,  so  celebrated  under  her  first  name 
of  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  very  wisely  decided 
to  live  in  retirement,  and  to  make  herself,  if  pos- 
sible, forgotten.  Paris  was  then  so  carried  away  by 
the  whirling  current  of  events  that  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  buried  in  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan, 
a  change  of  name  unknown  to  most  of  the  new  actors 
brought  upon  the  stage  of  society  by  the  revolution  of 
July,  did  really  become  a  stranger  in  her  own  city. 

In  Paris  the  title  of  duke  ranks  all  others,  even 
that  of  prince;  though,  in  heraldic  theory,  free  of  all 
sophism,  titles  signify  nothing;  there  is  absolute 
equality  among  gentlemen.  This  fine  equality  was 
formerly  maintained  by  the  House  of  France  itself; 
and  in  our  day  it  is  so  still,  at  least,  nominally ;  wit- 
ness the  care  with  which  the  kings  of  France  give  to 
their  sons  the  simple  title  of  count.  It  was  in  virtue 
of  this  system  that  Francis  I.  crushed  the  splendid 
titles  assumed  by  the  pompous  Charles  the  Fifth,  by 
signing  his  answer:  "Frangois,  seigneur  de  Vanves." 
Louis  XI.  did  better  still  by  marrying  his  daughter  to 
an  untitled  gentleman,  Pierre  de  Beaujeu.  The  feudal 
system  was  so  thoroughly  broken  up  by  Louis  XIV.  that 
the  title  of  duke  became,  during  his  reign,  the  supreme 
honor  of  the  aristocracy,  and  the  most  coveted. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan.        99 

Nevertheless  there  are  two  or  three  families  in 
France  in  which  the  principality,  richly  endowed  in 
former  times,  takes  precedence  of  the  duchy.  The 
house  of  Cadignan,  which  possesses  the  title  of  Due 
de  Maufrigneuse  for  its  eldest  sons,  is  one  of  these 
exceptional  families.  Like  the  princes  of  the  house 
of  Rohan  in  earlier  days,  the  princes  of  Cadignan  had 
the  right  to  a  throne  in  their  own  domain ;  they  could 
have  pages  and  gentlemen  in  their  service.  This 
explanation  is  necessary,  as  much  to  escape  foolish 
•critics  who  know  nothing,  as  to  record  the  customs  of 
a  world  which,  we  are  told,  is  about  to  disappear,  and 
which,  evidently,  so  many  persons  are  assisting  to 
push  away  without  knowing  what  it  is. 

The  Cadignans  bear:  or,  five  lozenges  sable  ap- 
pointed, placed  fess-wise,  with  the  word  Memini  for 
motto,  a  crown  with  a  cap  of  maintenance,  no  sup- 
porters or  mantle.  In  these  days  the  great  crowd 
of  strangers  nocking  to  Paris,  and  the  almost  universal 
ignorance  of  the  science  of  heraldry,  are  beginning  to 
bring  the  title  of  prince  into  fashion.  There  are  no 
real  princes  but  those  possessed  of  principalities,  to 
whom  belongs  the  title  of  highness.  The  disdain 
shown  by  the  French  nobility  for  the  title  of  prince, 
and  the  reasons  which  caused  Louis  XIV.  to  oive 
supremacy  to  the  title  of  duke,  have  prevented  French- 
men from  claiming  the  appellation  of  "  highness  "  for 


100     Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

the  few  princes  -who  exist  in  France,  those  of  Napoleon 
excepted.  This  is  why  the  princes  of  Cadignan  hold 
an  inferior  position,  nominally,  to  the  princes  of  the 
continent. 

The  members  of  the  society  called  the  faubourg 
Saint-Germain  protected  the  princess  by  a  respectful 
silence  due  to  her  name,  which  is  one  of  those  that  all 
men  honor,  to  her  misfortunes,  which  they  ceased  to 
discuss,  and  to  her  beauty,  the  only  thing  she  saved 
of  her  departed  opulence.  Society,  of  which  she  had 
once  been  the  ornament,  was  thankful  to  her  for  hav- 
ing, as  it  were,  taken  the  veil,  and  cloistered  herself 
in  her  own  home.  This  act  of  good  taste  was  for  her, 
more  than  for  any  other  woman,  an  immense  sacrifice. 
Great  deeds  are  always  so  keenly  felt  in  France  that 
the  princess  gained,  by  her  retreat,  as  much  as  she 
had  lost  in  public  opinion  in  the  days  of  her  splendor. 

She  now  saw  only  one  of  her  old  friends,  the  Mar- 
quise d'Espard,  and  even  to  her  she  never  went  on 
festive  occasions  or  to  parties.  The  princess  and  the 
mqrquise  visited  each  other  in  the  forenoons,  with  a 
certain  amount  of  secrecy.  When  the  princess  went 
to  dine  with  her  friend,  the  marquise  closed  her  doors. 
Madame  d'Espard  treated  the  princess  charmingly; 
she  changed  her  box  at  the  opera,  leaving  the  first  tier 
for  a  baignoire  on  the  ground-floor,  so  that  Madame 
de  Cadignan  could  come  to  the  theatre  unseen,  and 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan.      10.1 

■ 

depart  incognito.  Few  women  would  have  been  .can- 
able  of  a  delicacy  which  deprived  them  pj  the  pleasur? 
of  bearing  in  their  train  a  fallen  rival,  and  of  publicly 
being  called  her  benefactress.  Thus  relieved  of  the 
necessity  for  costly  toilets,  the  princess  could  enjoy 
the  theatre,  whither  she  went  in  Madame  d'Espard's 
carriage,  which  she  would  never  have  accepted  openly 
in  the  daytime.  No  one  has  ever  known  Madame 
d'Espard's  reasons  for  behaving  thus  to  the  Princesse 
de  Cadignan;  but  her  conduct  was  admirable,  and  for 
a  long  time  included  a  number  of  little  acts  which, 
viewed  singly,  seem  mere  trifles,  but  taken  in  the 
mass  become  gigantic. 

In  1832,  three  years  had  thrown  a  mantle  of  snow 
over  the  follies  and  adventures  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  and  had  whitened  them  so  thoroughly 
that  it  now  required  a  serious  effort  of  memory  to 
recall  them.  Of  the  queen  once  adored  by  so  many 
courtiers,  and  whose  follies  might  have  given  a  theme 
to  a  variety  of  novels,  there  remained  a  woman  still 
adorably  beautiful,  thirty-six  years  of  age,  but  quite 
justified  in  calling  herself  thirty,  although  she  was 
the  mother  of  Due  Georges  de  Maufrigneuse,  a  young 
man  of  eighteen,  handsome  as  Antinous,  poor  as  Job, 
who  was  expected  to  obtain  great  successes,  and  for 
whom  his  mother  desired,  above  all  things,  to  find  a 
rich  wife.     Perhaps  this  hope  was  the  secret  of  the 


102     Secrets  of  the  Prineesse  de   Cadignan. 

intimacy  she  still  kept  up  with  the  marquise,  in  whose 
•sal'oiv  TVhich  was  oiw  of  the  first  in  Paris,  she  might 
eventually  be  able  to  choose  among  many  heiresses  for 
Georges'  wife.  The  princess  saw  five  years  between 
the  present  moment  and  the  period  of  her  son's  mar- 
riage, —  five  solitary  and  desolate  years;  for,  in  order 
to  obtain  such  a  marriage  for  her  son,  she  knew  that 
her  own  conduct  must  be  marked  in  the  corner  with 
discretion. 

The  princess  lived  in  the  rue  de  Miromesnil,  in  a 
small  house,  of  which  she  occupied  the  ground-floor 
at  a  moderate  rent.  There  she  made  the  most  of  the 
relics  of  her  past  magnificence.  The  elegance  of  the 
great  lady  was  still  redolent  about  her.  She  was  still 
surrounded  by  beautiful  things  which  recalled  her 
former  existence.  On  her  chimney-piece  was  a  fine 
miniature  portrait  of  Charles  X.,  by  Madame  Mirbel, 
beneath  which  were  engraved  the  words,  "Given  by 
the  King;"  and,  as  a  pendant,  the  portrait  of 
Madame,  who  w-as  always  her  kind  friend.  On  a 
table  lay  an  album  of  costliest  price,  such  as  none  of 
the  bourgeoises  who  now  lord  it  in  our  industrial  and 
fault-finding  society  would  have  dared  to  exhibit. 
This  album  contained  portraits,  about  thirty  in  num- 
ber, of  her  intimate  friends,  whom  the  world,  first 
and  last,  had  given  her  as  lovers.  The  number  was  a 
calumny ;  but  had  rumor  said  ten,  it  might  have  been, 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan.     103 

as  her  friend  Madame  d'Espard  remarked,  good, 
sound  gossip.  The  portraits  of  Maxime  de  Trailles, 
de  Marsay,  Eastignac,  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon, 
General  Montriveau,  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles 
and  d'Ajuda-Pinto,  Prince  Galathionne,  the  young 
Dues  de  Grandlieu  and  de  Rhetore,  and  the  handsome 
Lucien  de  Rubempre,  had  all  been  treated  with  the 
utmost,  coquetry  of  brush  and  pencil  by  celebrated 
artists.  As  the  princess  now  received  only  two  or 
three  of  these  personages,  she  called  the  book,  jok- 
ingly, the  collection  of  her  errors. 

Misfortune  had  made  this  woman  a  good  mother. 
During  the  fifteen  years  of  the  Restoration  she  had 
amused  herself  far  too  much  to  think  of  her  son ;  but 
on  taking  refuge  in  obscurity,  this  illustrious  egoist 
bethought  her  that  the  maternal  sentiment,  developed 
to  its  extreme,  might  be  an  absolution  for  her  past 
follies  in  the  eyes  of  sensible  persons,  who  pardon 
everything  to  a  good  mother.  She  loved  her  son  all 
the   more    because    she    had    nothing;    else    to    love. 

CD 

Georges  de  Maufrigneuse  was,  moreover,  one  of  those 
children  who  flatter  the  vanities  of  a  mother;  and  the 
princess  had,  accordingly,  made  all  sorts  of  sacrifices 
for  him.  She  hired  a  stable  and  coach-house,  above 
which  he  lived  in  a  little  entresol  with  three  rooms  look- 
ing on  the  street,  and  charmingly  furnished ;  she  had 
even  borne  several  privations  to  keep  a  saddle-horse, 


104     Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

a  cab-horse,  and  a  little  groom  for  his  use.  For  her- 
self, she  had  only  her  own  maid,  and  as  cook,  a 
former  kitchen-maid.  The  duke's  groom  had,  there- 
fore, rather  a  hard  place.  Toby,  formerly  tiger  to  the 
late  Beaudenord  (such  was  the  jesting  term  applied 
by  the  gay  world  to  that  ruined  gentleman),  —  Toby, 
who  at  twenty-five  j^ears  of  age  was  still  considered 
only  fourteen,  was  expected  to  groom  the  horses,  clean 
the  cabriolet,  or  the  tilbury,  and  the  harnesses,  accom- 
pany his  master,  take  care  of  the  apartments,  and  be 
in  the  princess's  antechamber  to  announce  a  visitor, 
if,  by  chance,  she  happened  to  receive  one. 

When  one  thinks  of  what  the  beautiful  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  had  been  under  the  Eestoration,  — 
one  of  the  queens  of  Paris,  a  dazzling  queen,  whose 
luxurious  existence  equalled  that  of  the  richest  women 
of  fashion  in  London, —  there  was  something  touching 
in  the  sight  of  her  in  that  humble  little  abode  in  the 
rue  de  Miromesnil,  a  few  steps  away  from  her  splen- 
did mansion,  which  no  amount  of  fortune  had  enabled 
her  to  keep,  and  which  the  hammer  of  speculators 
has  since  demolished.  The  woman  who  thought  she 
was  scarcely  well  served  by  thirty  servants,  who  pos- 
sessed the  most  beautiful  reception-rooms  in  all  Paris, 
and  the  loveliest  little  private  apartments,  and  who 
made  them  the  scene  of  such  delightful  fetes,  now 
lived  in  a  small  apartment  of  five  rooms,  —  an  ante- 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      105 

chamber,  dining-room,  salon,  one  bed-chamber,  and  a 
dressing-room,  with  two  women-servants  only. 

"Ah!  she  is  devoted  to  her  son,"  said  that  clever 
creature,  Madame  d'Espard,  "and  devoted  without 
ostentation;  she  is  happy.  Who  would  ever  have 
believed  so  frivolous  a  woman  was  capable  of  such 
persistent  resolution!  Our  good  archbishop  has,  con- 
sequently, greatly  encouraged  her;  he  is  most  kind  to 
her,  and  has  just  induced  the  old  Comtesse  de  Cinq- 
Cygne  to  pay  her  a  visit." 

Let  us  admit  a  truth!  One  must  be  a  queen  to 
know  how  to  abdicate,  and  to  descend  with  dignity 
from  a  lofty  position  which  is  never  wholly  lost. 
Those  only  who  have  an  inner  consciousness  of 
being  nothing  in  themselves,  show  regrets  in  falling, 
or  struggle,  murmuring,  to  return  to  a  past  which  can 
never  returu,  —  a  fact  of  which  they  themselves  are 
well  aware.  Compelled  to  do  without  the  choice 
exotics  in  the  midst  of  which  she  had  lived,  and 
which  set  off  so  charmingly  her  whole  being  (for  it  is 
impossible  not  to  compare  her  to  a  flower),  the  prin- 
cess had  wisely  chosen  a  ground-floor  apartment;  there 
she  enjoyed  a  pretty  little  garden  which  belonged  to 
it,  —  a  garden  full  of  shrubs,  and  an  always  verdant 
turf,  which  brightened  her  peaceful  retreat.  She  had 
about  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year ;  but  that  modest 
income  was  partly  made  up  of  an  annual  stipend  sent 


106    Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

her  by  the  old  Duchesse  de  Navarreins,  paternal  aunt 
of  the  young  duke,  and  another  stipend  given  by  her 
mother,  the  Duchesse  d'Uxelles,  who  was  living  on 
her  estate  in  the  country,  where  she  economized  as  old 
duchesses  alone  know  how  to  economize ;  for  Harpagon 
is  a  mere  novice  compared  to  them.  The  princess  still 
retained  some  of  her  past  relations  with  the  exiled 
royal  family ;  and  it  was  in  her  house  that  the  marshal 
to  whom  we  owe  the  conquest  of  Africa  had  con- 
ferences, at  the  time  of  Madame's  attempt  in  La 
Vendee,  with  the  principal  leaders  of  legitimist 
opinion,  —  so  great  was  the  obscurity  in  which  the 
princess  lived,  and  so  little  distrust  did  the  govern- 
ment feel  for  her  in  her  present  distress. 

Beholding  the  approach  of  that  terrible  fortieth 
year,  the  bankruptcy  of  love,  beyond  which  there  is 
so  little  for  a  woman  as  woman,  the  princess  had  flung 
herself  into  the  kingdom  of  philosophy.  She  took  to 
reading,  she  who  for  sixteen  years  had  felt  a  cordial 
horror  for  serious  things.  Literature  and  politics  are 
to-day  what  piety  and  devotion  once  were  to  her  sex, 
—  the  last  refuge  of  their  feminine  pretensions.  In 
her  late  social  circle  it  was  said  that  Diane  was  writ- 
ing a  book.  Since  her  transformation  from  a  queen 
and  beauty  to  a  woman  of  intellect,  the  princess  had 
contrived  to  make  a  reception  in  her  little  house  a 
great  honor  which  distinguished  the  favored  person. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan.     107 

Sheltered  by  her  supposed  occupation,  she  was  able 
to  deceive  oue  of  her  former  adorers,  de  Marsay,  the 
most  influential  personage  of  the  political  bourgeoisie 
brought  to  the  fore  in  July,  1830.  She  received  him 
sometimes  in  the  evenings,  and,  occupied  his  atten- 
tion while  the  marshal  and  a  few  legitimists  were 
talking,  in  a  low  voice,  in  her  bedroom,  about  the 
recovery  of  power,  which  could  be  attained  only  by  a 
general  co-operation  of  ideas,  —  the  one  element  of 
success  which  all  conspirators  overlook.  It  was  the 
clever  vengeance  of  a  pretty  woman,  who  thus  in- 
veigled the  prime  minister,  and  made  him  act  as 
screen  for  a  conspiracy  against  his  own  government. 
This  adventure,  worthy  of  the  finest  days  of  the 
Fronde,  was  the  text  of  a  very  witty  letter,  in  which 
the  princess  rendered  to  Madame  an  account  of  the 
negotiations.  The  Due  de  Maufrisfneuse  went  to  La 
Vendee,  and  was  able  to  return  secretly  without  being 
compromised,  but  not  without  taking  part  in  Madame's 
perils :  the  latter,  however,  sent  him  home  the  moment 
she  saw  that  her  cause  was  lost.  Perhaps,  had  he 
remained,  the  eager  vigilance  of  the  young  man  might 
have  foiled  that  treachery.  However  great  the  faults 
of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  may  have  seemed  in 
the  eyes  of  the  bourgeoisie,  the  behavior  of  her  son 
on  this  occasion  certainly  effaced  them  in  the  eyes  of 
the  aristocracy.     There  was  great  nobility  and  gran- 


108      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

deur  in  thus  risking  her  only  son,  and  the  heir  of  an 
historic  name.  Some  persons  are  said  to  intentionally 
cover  the  faults  of  their  private  life  by  public  ser- 
vices, and  vice  versa;  but  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan 
made  no  such  calculation.  Possibly  those  who  appar- 
ently so  conduct  themselves  make  none.  Events  count 
for  much  in  such  cases. 

On  one  of  the  first  fine  days  in  the  month  of  May, 
1833,  the  Marquise  d'Espard  and  the  princess  were 
turning  about  —  one  could  hardly  call  it  walking  —  in 
the  single  path  which  wound  round  the  grass-plat  in 
the  garden,  about  half  past  two  in  the  afternoon,  just 
as  the  sun  was  leaving  it.  The  rays  reflected  on  the 
walls  gave  a  warm  atmosphere  to  the  little  space, 
which  was  fragrant  with  flowers,  the  gift  of  the 
marquise. 

u  We  shall  soon  lose  de  Marsay,"  said  the  marquise; 
"  and  with  him  will  disappear  your  last  hope  of  for- 
tune for  your  son.  Ever  since  you  played  him  that 
clever  trick,  he  has  returned  to  his  affection  for  you." 

"My  son  will  never  capitulate  to  the  younger 
branch,"  returned  the  princess,  "if  he  has  to  die  of 
hunger,  or  I  have  to  work  with  my  hands  to  feed 
him.  Besides,  Berthe  de  Cinq-Cygne  has  no  aversion 
to  him." 

"  Children  don't  bind  themselves  to  their  parents' 
principles,"  said  Madame  d'Espard. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       109 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  it,"  said  the  princess. 
"If  I  can't  coax  over  the  Marquise  de  Ciuq-Cygne,  I 
shall  marry  Georges  to  the  daughter  of  some  iron- 
founder,  as  that  little  d'Esgrignon  did." 

"  Did  you  love  Victurnien?  "  asked  the  marquise. 

"  No,"  replied  the  princess,  gravely,  "  d'Esgrignon's 
simplicity  was  really  ouly  a  sort  of  provincial  silli- 
ness, which  I  perceived  rather  too  late  —  or,  if  you 
choose,  too  soon." 

"And  de  Marsay?" 

"  De  Marsay  played  with  me  as  if  I  were  a  doll.  1 
was  so  young  at  the  time!  We  never  love  men  who 
pretend  to  teach  us ;  they  rub  up  all  our  little  vani- 
ties. It  is  three  years  that  I  have  lived  in  solitude," 
she  resumed,  after  a  pause,  "and  this  tranquillity  has 
nothing  painful  to  me  about  it.  To  you  alone  can  I 
dare  to  say  that  I  feel  I  am  happy.  I  was  surfeited 
with  adoration,  weary  of  pleasure,  emotional  on  the  sur- 
face of  things,  but  conscious  that  emotion  itself  never 
reached  my  heart.  I  have  found  all  the  men  whom  I 
have  known  petty,  paltry,  superficial;  none  of  them 
ever  caused  me  a  surprise;  they  had  no  innocence,  no 
grandeur,  no  delicacy.  I  wish  I  could  have  met  with 
one  man  able  to  inspire  me  with  respect." 

"Then  are  you  like  me,  my  dear?  "  asked  the  mar- 
quise; "have  you  never  felt  the  emotion  of  love  while 
trying  to  love  ? 


>> 


110       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

"  Never,"  replied  the  princess,  laying  her  hand  on 
the  arm  of  her  friend. 

They  turned  and  seated  themselves  on  a  rustic 
bench  beneath  a  jasmine  then  coming  into  flower. 
Each  had  uttered  one  of  those  sayings  that  are  solemn 
to  women  who  have  reached  their  age. 

"Like  you,"  resumed  the  princess,  "I  have  re- 
ceived more  love  than  most  women;  but  through  all 
my  many  adventures,  I  have  never  found  happiness. 
I  committed  great  follies,  but  they  had  an  object,  and 
that  object  retreated  as  fast  as  I  approached  it.  I 
feel  to-day  in  my  heart,  old  as  it  is,  an  innocence 
which  has  never  been  touched.  Yes,  under  all  my 
experience,  lies  a  first  love  still  intact,  —just  as  I 
myself,  in  spite  of  all  my  losses  and  fatigues,  feel 
young  and  beautiful.  We  may  love  and  not  be  happy ; 
we  may  be  happy  and  never  love;  but  to  love  and  be 
happy,  to  unite  those  two  immense  human  experiences, 
is  a  miracle.     That  miracle  has  not  taken   place  for 


me." 


u 


Nor  for  me,"  said  Madame  d'Espard. 

"  I  own  I  am  pursued  in  this  retreat  by  a  dreadful 
regret:  I  have  amused  myself  all  through  life,  but  I 
have  never  loved." 

"  What  an  incredible  secret!  "  cried  the  marquise. 

"  Ah!  my  dear,"  replied  the  princess,  "  such  secrets 
we  can  tell  to  ourselves,  you  and  I,  but  nobody  in 
Paris  would  believe  us." 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       Ill 


u 


Arsd,"  said  the  marquise,  "if  we  were  not  both 
over  thirty-six  years  of  age,  perhaps  we  would  not 
tell  them  to  each  other." 

"Yes;  when  women  are  young  they  have  so  many 
stupid  conceits,"  replied  the  princess.  "We  are  like 
those  poor  young  men  who  play  with  a  toothpick  to 
pretend  they  have  dined." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  here  we  are!"  said  Madame 
d'Esparcl,  with  coquettish  grace,  and  a  charming  ges- 
ture of  well-informed  innocence;  "and,  it  seems  to 
me,  sufficiently  alive  to  think  of  taking  our  revenge." 

"  When  you  told  me,  the  other  day,  that  Be'atrix 
had  gone  off  with  Conti,  I  thought  of  it  all  night 
long,"  said  the  princess,  after  a  pause.  "I  suppose 
there  was  happiness  in  sacrificing  her  position,  her 
future,  and  renouncing  society  forever." 

"She  was  a  little  fool,"  said  Madame  d'Espard, 
gravely.  "Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  delighted 
to  get  rid  of  Conti.  Beatrix  never  perceived  how 
that  surrender,  made  by  a  superior  woman  who  never 
for  a  moment  defended  her  claims,  proved  Conti's 
nothingness." 

"  Then  you  think  she  will  be  unhappy?  " 

"  She  is  so  now,"  replied  Madame  d'Esparcl.  "  Why 
did  she  leave  her  husband?  What  an  acknowledgment 
of  weakness! " 

"Then   you  think  that  Madame  de  Rochefide  was 


112       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

not  influenced  by  the  desire  to  enjoy  a  true  love  in 
peace?"  asked  the  princess. 

"No;  she  was  simply  imitating  Madame  de  Beau- 
seant  and  Madame  de  Langeais,  who,  be  it  said, 
between  you  and  me,  would  have  been,  in  a  less  vul- 
gar period  than  ours,  the  La  Valliere,  the  Diane  de 
Poitiers,  the  Gabrielle  cTEs trees  of  history." 

"Less  the  king,  my  dear.  Ah!  I  wish  I  could 
evoke  the  shades  of  those  women,  and  ask  them  —  " 

"But,"  said  the  marquise,  interrupting  the  princess, 
"why  ask  the  dead  ?  We  know  living  women  who  have 
been  happy.  I  have  talked  on  this  very  subject  a 
score  of  times  with  Madame  de  Montcornet  since  she 
married  that  little  Emile  Blondet,  who  makes  her  the 
happiest  woman  in  the  world;  not  an  infidelity,  not  a 
thought  that  turns  aside  from  her;  they  are  as  happy 
as  they  were  the  first  day.  These  long  attachments, 
like  that  of  your  cousin,  Madame  de  Camps,  for  her 
Octave,  have  a  secret,  and  that  secret  you  and  I  don't 
know,  my  dear.  The  world  has  paid  us  the  extreme 
compliment  of  thinking  we  are  two  rakes  worthy  of 
the  court  of  the  regent;  whereas  we  are,  in  truth,  as 
innocent  as  a  couple  of  school-girls." 

"I  should  like  that  sort  of  innocence,"  cried  the 
princess,  laughing;  "  but  ours  is  worse,  and  it  is  very 
humiliating.  Well,  it  is  a  mortification  we  offer  up 
in  expiation  of   our   fruitless  search;  yes,  my  dear, 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       113 

fruitless,  for  it  is  n't  probable  we  shall  find  in  our 
autumn  season  the  fine  flower  we  missed  in  the  spring 
and  summer." 

"That's  not  the  question,"  resumed  the  marquise, 
after  a  meditative  pause.  "  We  are  both  still  beauti- 
ful enough  to  inspire  love,  but  we  could  never  convince 
any  one  of  our  innocence  and  virtue." 

"  If  it  were  a  lie,  how  easy  to  dress  it  up  with  com- 
mentaries, and  serve  it  as  some  delicious  fruit  to  be 
eagerly  swallowed !  But  how  is  it  possible  to  get  a 
truth  believed?  Ah!  the  greatest  of  men  have  been 
mistaken  there ! "  added  the  princess,  with  one  of 
those  meaning  smiles  which  the  pencil  of  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  alone  has  rendered. 

"  Fools  love  well,  sometimes,"  returned  the  marquise. 

"But  in  this  case,"  said  the  princess,  "fools 
wouldn't  have  enough  credulity  in  their  nature." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  marquise.  "But  what 
we  ous;ht  to  look  for  is  neither  a  fool  nor  even  a  man 
of  talent.  To  solve  our  problem  we  need  a  man  of 
genius.  Genius  alone  has  the  faith  of  childhood,  the 
religion  of  love,  and  willingly  allows  us  to  band  its 
eyes.  Look  atCanalis  and  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu! 
Though  we  have  both  encountered  men  of  genius,  they 
were  either  too  far  removed  from  us  or  too  busy,  and 
we  too  absorbed,  too  frivolous." 

"  Ah!  how  I  wish  I  might  not  leave  this  world  with- 


114       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

out  knowing  the  happiness  of  true  love,"  exclaimed 
the  princess. 

"  It  is  nothing  to  inspire  it,"  said  Madame  d'Espard ; 
"the  thing  is  to  feel  it.  I  see  many  women  who  are 
only  the  pretext  for  a  passion  without  being  both  its 
cause  and  its  effect. " 

"  The  last  love  I  inspired  was  a  beautiful  and  sacred 
thing,"  said  the  princess.  "It  had  a  future  in  it. 
Chance  had  brought  me,  for  once  in  a  way,  the  man 
of  genius  who  is  due  to  us,  and  yet  so  difficult  to 
obtain;  there  are  more  pretty  women  than  men  of 
genius.     But  the  devil  interfered  with  the  affair." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  my  dear;  this  is  all  news  to  me." 

"  I  first  noticed  this  beautiful  passion  about  the 
middle  of  the  winter  of  1829.  Every  Friday,  at  the 
opera,  I  observed  a  young  man,  about  thirty  years  of 
age,  in  the  orchestra  stalls,  who  evidently  came  there 
for  me.  He  was  always  in  the  same  stall,  gazing  at 
me  with  eyes  of  fire,  but,  seemingly,  saddened  by  the 
distance  between  us,  perhaps  by  the  hopelessness  of 
reaching  me." 

"Poor  fellow!  When  a  man  loves  he  becomes 
eminently  stupid,"  said  the  marquise. 

"Between  every  act  he  would  slip  into  the  cor- 
ridor," continued  the  princess,  smiling  at  her  friend's 
epigrammatic  remark.  "  Once  or  twice,  either  to  see 
me  or  to  make  me  see  him,  he  looked  through  the 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       115 

glass  sash  of  the  box  exactly  opposite  to  mine.  If  I 
received  a  visit,  I  was  certain  to  see  him  in  the  cor- 
ridor close  to  my  door,  casting  a  furtive  glance  upon 
me.  He  had  apparently  learned  to  know  the  persons 
belonging  to  my  circle;  and  he  followed  them  when  he 
saw  them  turning  in  the  direction  of  my  box,  in  order 
to  obtain  the  benefit  of  the  opening  door.  I  also 
found  my  mysterious  adorer  at  the  Italian  opera-house; 
there  he  had  a  stall  directly  opposite  to  my  box,  where 
he  could  gaze  at  me  in  naive  ecstasy  —  oh!  it  was 
pretty !  On  leaving  either  house  I  always  found 
him  planted  in  the  lobby,  motionless;  he  was  el- 
bowed and  jostled,  but  he  never  moved.  His  eyes 
grew  less  brilliant  if  he  saw  me  on  the  arm  of  some 
favorite.  But  not  a  word,  not  a  letter,  no  demonstra- 
tion. You  must  acknowledge  that  was  in  good 
taste.  Sometimes,  on  getting  home  late  at  night,  I 
found  him  sitting  upon  one  of  the  stone  posts  of 
the  porte-cochere.  This  lover  of  mine  had  very  hand- 
some eyes,  a  long,  thick,  fan-shaped  beard,  with  a 
moustache  and  side-whiskers;  nothing  could  be  seen 
of  his  skin  but  his  white  cheek-bones,  and  a  noble 
forehead ;  it  was  truly  an  antique  head.  The  prince, 
as  you  know,  defended  the  Tuileries  on  the  river- 
side, during  the  July  days.  He  returned  to  Saint- 
Cloud  that  night,  when  all  was  lost,  and  said  to  me: 
'  I   came  near  being  killed    at  four  o'clock.     I  was 


116       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

aimed  at  by  one  of  the  insurgents,  when  a  young  man, 
with  a  long  beard,  whom  I  have  often  seen  at  the 
opera,  and  who  was  leading  the  attack,  threw  up  the 
man's  gun,  and  saved  me.'  So  my  adorer  was  evi- 
dently a  republican!  In  1831,  after  I  came  to  lodge 
in  this  house,  I  found  him,  one  day,  leaning  with  his 
back  against  the  wall  of  it;  he  seemed  pleased  with 
my  disasters ;  possibly  he  may  have  thought  they  drew 
us  nearer  together.  But  after  the  affair  of  Saint- 
Merri  I  saw  him  no  more;  he  was  killed  there.  The 
evening  before  the  funeral  of  General  Lamarque,  I 
had  gone  out  on  foot  with  my  son,  and  my  republican 
accompanied  us,  sometimes  behind,  sometimes  in  front, 
from  the  Madeleine  to  the  Passage  des  Panoramas, 
where  I  was  going." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  the  marquise. 

"Yes,  all,"  replied  the  princess.  "Except  that  on 
the  morning  Saint-Merri  was  taken,  a  gamin  came 
here  and  insisted  on  seeiug  me.  He  gave  me  a  letter, 
written  on  common  paper,  signed  by  my  republican." 

"  Show  it  to  me,"  said  the  marquise. 

"No,  my  dear.  Love  was  too  great  and  too  sacred 
in  the  heart  of  that  man  to  let  me  violate  its  secrets. 
The  letter,  short  and  terrible,  still  stirs  my  soul  when 
I  think  of  it.  That  dead  man  gives  me  more  emo- 
tions than  all  the  living  men  I  ever  coquetted  with; 
he  constantly  recurs  to  my  mind." 


Sec?*ets  of  the  Prineesse  de  Cadignan.      117 

"  What  was  his  name?  "  asked  the  marquise. 

"Oh!  a  very  common  one :  Michel  Chrestien." 

"You  have  done  well  to  tell  me,"  said  Madame 
d'Espard,  eagerly.  "I  have  often  heard  of  him. 
This  Michel  Chrestien  was  the  intimate  friend  of  a 
remarkable  man  you  have  already  expressed  a  wish  to 
see,  —  Daniel  cV Arthez,  who  comes  to  my  house  some 
two  or  three  times  a  year.  Chrestien,  who  was  really 
killed  at  Saint-Merri,  had  no  lack  of  friends.  I  have 
heard  it  said  that  he  was  one  of  those  born  statesmen 
to  whom,  like  de  Marsay,  nothing  is  wanting  but 
opportunity  to  become  all  they  might  be." 

"Then  he  had  better  be  dead,"  said  the  princess, 
with  a  melancholv  air,  under  which  she  concealed  her 
thoughts. 

"Will  you  come  to  my  house  some  evening  and 
meet  d' Arthez?  "  said  the  marquise.  "  You  can  talk 
of  your  ghost." 

Yes,  I  will,"  replied  the  princess. 


u  V, 


118      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 


II. 


DANIEL   D'ARTHEZ. 


A  few  days  after  this  conversation  Blondet  and 
Rastignac,  who  knew  d'Arthez,  promised  Madame 
d'Espard  that  they  would  bring  him  to  dine  with  her. 
This  promise  might  have  proved  rash  had  it  not  been 
for  the  name  of  the  princess,  a  meeting  with  whom 
was  not  a  matter  of  indiffereuce  to  the  great  writer. 

Daniel  d'Arthez,  one  of  the  rare  men  who,  in  our 
day,  unite  a  noble  character  with  great  talent,  had 
already  obtained,  not  all  the  popularity  his  works 
deserve,  but  a  respectful  esteem  to  which  souls  of  his 
own  calibre  could  add  nothing.  His  reputation  will 
certainly  increase;  but  in  the  eyes  of  connoisseurs  it 
had  already  attained  its  full  development.  He  is  one 
of  those  authors  who,  sooner  or  later,  are  put  in  their 
right  place,  and  never  lose  it.  A  poor  nobleman,  he 
had  understood  his  epoch  well  enough  to  seek  per- 
sonal distinction  only.  He  had  struggled  long  in  the 
Parisian  arena,  against  the  wishes  of  a  rich  uncle 
who,  by  a  contradiction  which  vanity  must  explain, 
after  leaving  his  nephew  a  prey  to  the  utmost  penury, 
bequeathed  to  the  man  who  had  reached  celebrity  the 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      119 

fortune  so  pitilessly  refused  to  the  unknown  writer. 
This  sudden  change  in  his  position  made  no  change 
in  Daniel  d'Arthez's  habits;  he  continued  to  work 
with  a  simplicity  worthy  of  the  antique  past,  and  even 
assumed  new  toils  by  accepting  a  seat  in  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies,  where  he  took  his  seat  on  the  Right. 

Since  his  accession  to  fame  he  had  sometimes  gone 
into  society.  One  of  his  old  friends,  a  now-famous 
physician,  Horace  Bianchon,  persuaded  him  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  Baron  de  Rastignac,  under- 
secretary of  State,  and  a  friend  of  de  Marsay,  the 
prime  minister.  These  two  political  officials  acqui- 
esced, rather  nobly,  in  the  strong  wish  of  d'Arthez, 
Bianchon,  and  other  friends  of  Michel  Chrestien  for 
the  removal  of  the  body  of  that  republican  to  the 
church  of  Saint-Merri  for  the  purpose  of  giving  it 
funeral  honors.  Gratitude  for  a  service  which  con- 
trasted with  the  administrative  rigor  displayed  at  a 
time  when  political  passions  were  so  violent,  had 
bound,  so  to  speak,  d'Arthez  to  Rastignac.  The 
latter  and  de  Marsay  were  much  too  clever  not  to 
profit  by  that  circumstance;  and  thus  they  won  over 
other  friends  of  Michel  Chrestien,  who  did  not  share 
his  political  opinions,  and  who  now  attached  them- 
selves to  the  new  government.  One  of  them,  Leon 
Giraud,  appointed  in  the  first  instance  master  of 
petitions,  became  eventually  a  Councillor  of  State. 


120       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

The  whole  existence  of  Daniel  d'Arthez  is  conse- 
crated to  work;  he  sees  society  only  by  snatches;  it 
is  to  him  a  sort  of  dream.  His  house  is  a  convent, 
where  he  leads  the  life  of  a  Benedictine;  the  same 
sobriety  of  regimen,  the  same  regularity  of  occupa- 
tion. His  friends  knew  that  up  to  the  present  time 
woman  had  been  to  him  no  more  than  an  always 
dreaded  circumstance;  he  had  observed  her  too  much 
not  to  fear  her;  but  by  dint  of  studying  her  he  had 
ceased  to  understand  her, —  like,  in  this,  to  those  deep 
strategists  who  are  always  beaten  on  unexpected 
ground,  where  their  scientific  axioms  are  either  modi- 
fied or  contradicted.  In  character  he  still  remains  a 
simple-hearted  child,  all  the  while  proving  himself  an 
observer  of  the  first  rank.  This  contrast,  apparently 
impossible,  is  explainable  to  those  who  know  how  to 
measure  the  depths  which  separate  faculties  from  feel- 
ings; the  former  proceed  from  the  head,  the  latter 
from  the  heart.  A  man  can  be  a  great  man  and  a 
wicked  one,  just  as  he  can  be  a  fool  and  a  devoted 
lover.  D'Arthez  is  one  of  those  privileged  beings  in 
whom  shrewdness  of  mind  and  a  broad  expanse  of  the 
qualities  of  the  brain  do  not  exclude  either  the  strength 
or  the  grandeur  of  sentiments.  He  is,  by  rare  privi- 
lege, equally  a  man  of  action  and  a  man  of  thought. 
His  private  life  is  noble  and  generous.  If  he  care- 
fully avoided  love,  it  was  because  he  knew  himself, 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       121 

and  felt  a  premonition  of  the  empire  such  a  passion 
would  exercise  upon  him. 

For  several  years  the  crushing  toil  by  which  he  pre- 
pared the  solid  ground  of  his  subsequent  works,  and 
the  chill  of  poverty,  were  marvellous  preservatives. 
But  when  ease  with  his  inherited  fortune  came  to  him, 
he  formed  a  vulgar  and  most  incomprehensible  con- 
nection with  a  rather  handsome  woman,  belonging  to 
the  lower  classes,  without  education  or  manners, 
whom  he  carefully  concealed  from  every  eye.  Michel 
Chrestien  attributed  to  men  of  genius  the  power  of 
transforming  the  most  massive  creatures  into  sylphs, 
fools  into  clever  women,  peasants  into  countesses; 
the  more  accomplished  a  woman  was,  the  more 
she  lost  her  value  in  their  eyes,  for,  according  to 
Michel,  their  imagination  had  the  less  to  do.  In  his 
opinion  love,  a  mere  matter  of  the  senses  to  inferior 
beings,  was  to  great  souls  the  most  immense  of  all 
moral  creations  and  the  most  binding.  To  justify 
d'Arthez,  he  instanced  the  example  of  Raffaele  and 
the  Fornarina.  He  might  have  offered  himself  as  an 
instance  for  his  theory,  he  who  had  seen  an  angel  in 
the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse.  This  strange  fancy 
of  d'Arthez  might,  however,  be  explained  in  other 
ways ;  perhaps  he  had  despaired  of  meeting  here  below 
with  a  woman  who  answered  to  that  delightful  vision 
which  all  men  of  intellect  dream  of  and  cherish;  per- 


122       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

haps  bis  heart  was  too  sensitive,  too  delicate,  to  yield 
itself  to  a  woman  of  society ;  perhaps  he  thought  best 
to  let  nature  have  her  way,  and  keep  his  illusions  by 
cultivating  his  ideal;  perhaps  he  had  laid  aside  love 
as  being  incompatible  with  his  work  and  the  regu- 
larity of  a  monastic  life  which  love  would  have  wholly 
upset. 

For  several  months  past  d'Arthez  had  been  sub- 
jected to  the  jests  and  satire  of  Blondet  and  Rastignac, 
who  reproached  him  with  knowing  neither  the  world 
nor  women.  According  to  them,  his  authorship  was 
sufficiently  advanced,  and  his  works  numerous  enough, 
to  allow  him  a  few  distractions;  he  had  a  fine  fortune, 
and  here  he  was  living  like  a  student;  he  enjoyed 
nothing,  —  neither  his  money  nor  his  fame ;  he  was 
ignorant  of  the  exquisite  enjoyments  of  the  noble  and 
delicate  love  which  well-born  and  well-bred  women 
could  inspire  and  feel ;  he  knew  nothing  of  the  charm- 
ing refinements  of  language,  nothing  of  the  proofs  of 
affection  incessantly  given  by  soul  and  intellect,  noth- 
ing of  those  desires  ennobled  by  manners,  nothing  of 
the  angelic  forms  given  by  refined  women  to  the  com- 
monest things.  He  might,  perhaps,  know  woman; 
but  he  knew  nothing  of  the  divinity.  Why  not  take 
his  rightful  place  in  the  world,  and  taste  the  delights 
of  Parisian  society? 

"Why  doesn't  a  man  who  bears   party  per  bend 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       123 

gules  and  or,  a  bezant  and  crab  counterchanged," 
cried  Rastignac,  "  display  that  ancient  escutcheon  of 
Picardy  on  the  panels  of  a  carriage  ?  You  have  thirty 
thousand  francs  a  year,  and  the  proceeds  of  your  pen ; 
you  have  justified  your  motto:  Ars  THEsaurusque 
virtus,  that  punning  device  our  ancestors  were  always 
seeking,  and  yet  you  never  appear  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne!  We  live  in  times  when  virtue  ought  to 
show  itself.'* 

"If  you  read  your  works  to  that  species  of  stout 
Laforet,  whom  you  seem  to  fancy,  I  would  forgive 
you,"  said  Blondet.  "But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are 
living  on  dry  bread,  materially  speaking;  in  the 
matter  of  intellect  you  haven't  even  bread." 

This  friendly  little  warfare  had  been  going  on  for 
several  months  between  Daniel  and  his  friends,  when 
Madame  d'Espard  asked  Rastignac  and  Blondet  to 
induce  d'Arthez  to  come  and  dine  with  her,  telling 
them  that  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan  had  a  great 
desire  to  see  that  celebrated  man.  Such  curiosities 
are  to  certain  women  what  magic  lanterns  are  to  chil- 
dren, —  a  pleasure  to  the  eyes,  but  rather  shallow  and 
full  of  disappointments.  The  more  sentiments  a  man 
of  talent  excites  at  a  distance,  the  less  he  responds  to 
them  on  nearer  view;  the  more  brilliant  fancy  has 
pictured  him,  the  duller  he  will  seem  in  reality.  Con- 
sequently, disenchanted  curiosity  is  often  unjust. 


124       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

Neither     Blondet    nor     Rastignac     could    deceive 
d'Arthez ;  but  they  told  him,  laughing,  that  they  now 
offered  him  a  most  seductive  opportunity  to  polish  up 
his  heart  and  know  the  supreme  fascinations   which 
love  conferred  on  a  Parisian  great  lady.     The  prin- 
cess was  evidently  in  love  with  him ;  he  had  nothing 
to  fear  but  everything  to  gain  by  accepting  the  inter- 
view; it  was  quite  impossible  he  could  descend  from 
the   pedestal   on   which    Madame   de   Cadignan    had 
placed  him.     Neither  Blondet  nor  Rastignac  saw  any 
impropriety  in  attributing  this  love  to  the  princess; 
she  whose  past  had  given  rise  to  so  many  anecdotes 
could  very  well  stand  that  lesser  calumny.     Together 
they  began   to   relate  to  d'Arthez  the  adventures  of 
the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse:  her  first  affair  with 
de  Marsay;  her  second  with  d'Ajuda,  whom  she  had, 
they   said,  distracted   from    his   wife,  thus   avenging 
Madame  de  Beauseant;  also  her  later  connection  with 
young   d'Esgrignon,  who   had   travelled  with   her  in 
Italy,  and  had  horribly  compromised  himself  on  her 
account;    after  that  they  told  him  how  unhappy  she 
had  been  with  a  certain  celebrated  ambassador,  how 
happy  with  a  Russian  general,  besides  becoming  the 
Egeria  of  two  ministers  of  Foreign  affairs,  and  vari- 
ous other  anecdotes.     D'Arthez  replied  that  he  knew 
a  great  deal  more  than  they  could  tell  him  about  her 
through   their    poor    friend,    Michel   Chrestien,    who 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       125 

adored  her  secretly  for  four  years,  and  had  well-nigh 
gone  mad  about  her. 

"I  have  often  accompanied  him,"  said  Daniel,  "to 
the  opera.  He  would  make  me  run  through  the  streets 
as  fast  as  her  horses  that  he  might  see  the  princess 
through  the  window  of  her  coupe." 

"Well,  there  you  have  a  topic  all  ready  for  you," 
said  Blondet,  smiling.  "  This  is  the  very  woman  you 
need ;  she  '11  initiate  you  most  gracefully  into  the 
mysteries  of  elegance;  but  take  care!  she  has  wasted 
many  fortunes.  The  beautiful  Diane  is  one  of  those 
spendthrifts  who  don't  cost  a  penny,  but  for  whom  a 
man  spends  millions.  Give  yourself  up  to  her,  body 
and  soul,  if  you  choose ;  but  keep  your  money  in  your 
hand,  like  the  old  fellow  in  Girodet's  '  Deluge.'  " 

From  theteuor  of  these  remarks  it  was  to  be  inferred 
that  the  princess  had  the  depth  of  a  precipice,  the 
grace  of  a  queen,  the  corruption  of  diplomatists,  the 
mystery  of  a  first  initiation,  and  the  dangerous  quali- 
ties of  a  siren.  The  two  clever  men  of  the  world, 
incapable  of  foreseeing  the  denouement  of  their  joke, 
succeeded  in  presenting  Diane  d'Uxelles  as  a  consum- 
mate specimen  of  the  Parisian  woman,  the  cleverest 
of  coquettes,  the  most  enchanting  mistress  in  the 
world.  Right  or  wrong,  the  woman  whom  they  thus 
treated  so  lightly  was  sacred  to  d' Arthez ;  his  desire 
to  meet  her  needed  no  spur ;  he  consented  to  do  so  at 


126       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

the  first  word,  which  was  all  the  two  friends  wanted 
of  him. 

Madame  d'Espard  went  to  see  the  princess  as  soon 
as  she  had  received  this  answer. 

"My  dear,  do  you  feel  yourself  in  full  beauty  and 
coquetry?  "  she  said.  "  If  so,  come  and  dine  with  nie 
a  few  days  hence,  aud  I  '11  serve  up  d'Arthez.  Our 
man  of  genius  is  by  nature,  it  seems,  a  savage;  he 
fears  women,  and  has  never  loved !  Make  your  plans 
on  that.  He  is  all  intellect,  and  so  simple  that  he  '11 
mislead  you  into  feeling  no  distrust.  But  his  pene- 
tration, which  is  wholly  retrospective,  acts  later,  and 
frustrates  calculation.  You  may  hoodwink  him  to-day, 
but  to-morrow  nothing  can  dupe  him." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  princess,  "  if  I  were  only  thirty 
years  old  what  amusement  I  might  have  with  him! 
The  one  enjoyment  I  have  lacked  up  to  the  present 
day  is  a  man  of  intellect  to  fool.  I  have  had  only 
partners,  never  adversaries.  Love  was  a  mere  game 
instead  of  being  a  battle." 

"Dear  princess,  admit  that  I  am  very  generous; 
for,  after  all,  you  know!  —  charity  begins  at  home." 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other,  laughing,  and 
clasped  hands  in  a  friendly  way.  Assuredly  they 
both  knew  each  other's  secrets,  and  this  was  not  the 
first  man  nor  the  first  service  that  one  had  given  to 
the  other;  for  sincere  and  lasting  friendships  between 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      127 

women  of  the  world  need  to  be  cemented  by  a  few 
little  crimes.  When  two  friends  are  able  to  kill  each 
other  reciprocally,  and  see  a  poisoned  dagger  in  each 
other's  hand,  they  present  a  touching  spectacle  of 
harmony,  which  is  never  troubled,  unless,  by  chance, 
one  of  them  is  careless  enough  to  drop  her  weapon. 

So,  eight  days  later,  a  little  dinner  such  as  are 
given  to  intimates  by  verbal  invitation  only,  during 
which  the  doors  are  closed  to  all  other  visitors,  took 
place  at  Madame  d'Espard's  house.  Five  persons  were 
invited,  —  Emile  Blondet  and  Madame  de  Montcornet, 
Daniel  d'Arthez,  Rastignac,  and  the  Princesse  de 
Cadignan.  Counting  the  mistress  of  the  house,  there 
were  as  many  men  as  women. 

Chance  never  exerted  itself  to  make  wiser  prepara- 
tions than  those  which  opened  the  way  to  a  meeting 
between  d'Arthez  and  Madame  de  Cadisfnan.  The 
princess  is  still  considered  one  of  the  chief  authorities 
on  dress,  which,  to  women,  is  the  first  of  arts.  On 
this  occasion  she  wore  a  gown  of  blue  velvet  with 
flowing  white  sleeves,  and  a  tulle  guimpe,  slightly 
frilled  and  edged  with  blue,  covering  the  shoulders, 
and  rising  nearly  to  the  throat,  as  we  see  in  several  of 
Raffaelle's  portraits.  Her  maid  had  dressed  her  hair 
with  white  heather,  adroitly  placed  among  its  blond 
cascades,  which  were  one  of  the  great  beauties  to 
which  she  owed  her  celebrity. 


128      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

Certainly  Diane  did  not  look  to  be  more  than 
twenty-five  years  old.  Four  years  of  solitude  and 
repose  had  restored  the  freshness  of  her  complexion. 
Besides,  there  are  moments  when  the  desire  to  please 
gives  an  increase  of  beauty  to  women.  The  will  is 
not  without  influence  on  the  variations  of  the  face. 
If  violent  emotions  have  the  power  to  yellow  the  white 
tones  of  persons  of  bilious  and  melancholy  tempera- 
ment, and  to  green  lymphatic  faces,  shall  we  not  grant 
to  desire,  hope,  and  joy,  the  faculty  of  clearing  the 
skin,  giving  brilliancy  to  the  eye,  and  brightening  the 
glow  of  beauty  with  a  light  as  jocund  as  that  of  a 
lovely  morning?  The  celebrated  fairness  of  the  prin- 
cess had  taken  on  a  ripeness  which  now  made  her 
seem  more  august.  At  this  moment  of  her  life,  im- 
pressed by  her  many  vicissitudes  and  by  serious  reflec- 
tions, her  noble,  dreamy  brow  harmonized  delightfully 
with  the  slow,  majestic  glance  of  her  blue  eyes.  It 
was  impossible  for  the  ablest  physiognomist  to 
imagine  calculation  or  self-will  beneath  that  unspeak- 
able delicacy  of  feature.  There  are  faces  of  women 
which  deceive  knowledge,  and  mislead  observation  by 
their  calmness  and  delicacy;  it  is  necessary  to  examine 
such  faces  when  passions  speak,  and  that  is  difficult, 
or  after  they  have  spoken,  which  is  no  longer  of  any 
use,  for  then  the  woman  is  old  and  has  ceased  to 
dissimulate. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      129 

The  princess  is  one  of  those  impenetrable  women; 
she  can  make  herself  what  she  pleases  to  be :  playful, 
childlike,  distractingly  innocent;  or  reflective,  serious, 
and  profound  enough  to  excite  anxiety.  She  came  to 
Madame  d'Espard's  dinner  with  the  intention  of  be- 
ing a  gentle,  simple  woman,  to  whom  life  was  known 
only  through  its  deceptions:  a  woman  full  of  soul, 
and  calumniated,  but  resigned,  —  in  short,  a  wounded 
angel. 

She  arrived  early,  so  as  to  pose  on  a  sofa  near  the 
fire  beside  Madame  d'Espard,  as  she  wished  to  be 
first  seen :  that  is,  in  one  of  those  attitudes  in  which 
science  is  concealed  beneath  an  exquisite  naturalness; 
a  studied  attitude,  putting  in  relief  the  beautiful  ser- 
pentine outline  which,  starting  from  the  foot,  rises 
gracefully  to  the  hip,  and  continues  with  adorable 
curves  to  the  shoulder,  presenting,  in  fact,  a  profile  of 
the  whole  body.  With  a  subtlety  which  few  women 
would  have  dreamed  of,  Diane,  to  the  great  amaze- 
ment of  the  marquise,  had  brought  her  son  with  her. 
After  a  moment's  reflection,  Madame  d'Espard  pressed 
the  princess's  hand,  with  a  look  of  intelligence  that 
seemed  to  say :  — 

"I  understand  you!  By  making  d'Arthez  accept 
all  the  difficulties  at  once  you  will  not  have  to  conquer 
them  later." 

Rastignac  brought  d'Arthez.     The   princess  made 

9 


130      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

none  of  those  compliments  to  the  celebrated  author 
with  which  vulgar  persons  overwhelmed  him ;  but  she 
treated  him  with  a  kindness  full  of  graceful  respect, 
which,  with  her,  was  the  utmost  extent  of  her  conces- 
sions. Her  manner  was  doubtless  the  same  with  the 
Kiug  of  France  and  the  royal  princes.  She  seemed 
happy  to  see  this  great  man,  and  glad  that  she  had 
sought  him.  Persons  of  taste,  like  the  princess,  are 
especially  distinguished  for  their  manner  of  listening, 
for  an  affability  without  superciliousness,  which  is  to 
politeness  what  practice  is  to  virtue.  When  the  cele- 
brated man  spoke,  she  took  an  attentive  attitude,  a 
thousand  times  more  flattering  than  the  best-seasoned 
compliments.  The  mutual  presentation  was  made 
quietly,  without  emphasis,  and  in  perfectly  good 
taste,  by  the  marquise. 

At  dinner  d'Arthez  was  placed  beside  the  princess, 
who,  far  from  imitating  the  eccentricities  of  diet 
which  many  affected  women  display,  ate  her  dinner 
with  a  very  good  appetite,  making  it  a  point  of  honor 
to  seem  a  natural  woman,  without  strange  ways  or 
fancies.  Between  two  courses  she  took  advantage  of 
the  conversation  becoming  general  to  say  to  d'Arthez, 
in  a  sort  of  aside :  — 

"The  secret  of  the  pleasure  I  take  in  finding 
myself  beside  you,  is  the  desire  I  feel  to  learn 
something  of   an  unfortunate  friend  of   yours,  mon- 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      131 

sieur.  He  died  for  another  cause  than  ours;  but  I 
was  under  the  greatest  obligations  to  hiin,  although 
unable  to  acknowledge  or  thank  him  for  them.  I 
know  that  you  were  one  of  his  best  friends.  Your 
mutual  friendship,  pure  and  unalterable,  is  a  claim 
upon  me.  You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  think  it  extraor- 
dinary, that  I  have  wished  to  know  all  you  could  tell 
me  of  a  man  so  dear  to  you.  Though  I  am  attached 
to  the  exiled  family,  and  bound,  of  course,  to  hold 
monarchical  opinions,  I  am  not  among  those  who  think 
it  is  impossible  to  be  both  republican  and  noble  in 
heart.  Monarchy  and  the  republic  are  two  forms  of 
government  which  do  not  stifle  noble  sentiments." 

"Michel  Chrestien  was  an  angel,  madame,"  replied 
Daniel,  in  a  voice  of  emotion.  "  I  don't  know  among 
the  heroes  of  antiquity  a  greater  than  he.  Be  careful 
not  to  think  him  one  of  those  narrow-minded  repub- 
licans who  would  like  to  restore  the  Convention  and 
the  amenities  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety. 
No,  Michel  dreamed  of  the  Swiss  federation  applied 
to  all  Europe.  Let  us  own,  between  ourselves,  that 
after  the  glorious  government  of  one  man  only, 
which,  as  I  think,  is  particularly  suited  to  our  nation, 
Michel's  system  would  lead  to  the  suppression  of  war 
in  this  old  world,  and  its  reconstruction  on  bases  other 
than  those  of  conquest,  which  formerly  feudalized 
it.     From   this  point  of  view  the  republicans  came 


132      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

nearest  to  his  idea.  That  is  why  he  lent  them  his 
arm  in  July,  and  was  killed  at  Saint-Merri.  Though 
completely  apart  in  opinion,  he  and  I  were  closely 
bound  together  as  friends." 

"That  is  noble  praise  for  both  natures,"  said 
Madame  de  Cadignan,  timidly. 

"  During  the  last  four  years  of  his  life,"  continued 
Daniel,  "he  made  to  me  alone  a  confidence  of  his 
love  for  you,  and  this  confidence  knitted  closer  than 
ever  the  already  strong  ties  of  our  brotherly  affection. 
He  alone,  madam e,  can  have  loved  you  as  you  ought 
to  be  loved.  Many  a  time  I  have  been  pelted  with 
rain  as  we  accompanied  your  carriage  at  the  pace  of 
the  horses,  to  keep  at  a  parallel  distance,  and  see  you 
—  admire  you." 

"Ah!  monsieur,"  said  the  princess,  '•  how  can  I 
repay  such  feelings !  " 

"Why  is  Michel  not  here!"  exclaimed  Daniel,  in 
melancholy  accents. 

''Perhaps  he  would  not  have  loved  me  long/'  said 
the  princess,  shaking  her  head  sadly.  "Republicans 
are  more  absolute  in  their  ideas  than  we  absolutists, 
whose  fault  is  indulgence.  No  doubt  he  imagined  me 
perfect,  and  society  would  have  cruelly  undeceived 
him.  "We  are  pursued,  we  women,  by  as  many  calum- 
nies as  you  authors  are  compelled  to  endure  in  your 
literary  life;  but  we,  alas!  cannot  defend  ourselves 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       133 

either  by  our  works  or  by  our  fame.  The  world  will 
not  believe  us  to  be  what  we  are,  but  what  it  thinks 
us  to  be.  It  would  soon  have  hidden  from  his  eyes 
the  real  but  unknown  woman  that  is  in  me,  behind 
the  false  portrait  of  the  imaginary  woman  which  the 
world  considers  true.  He  would  have  come  to  think 
me  unworthy  of  the  noble  feelings  he  had  for  me, 
and  incapable  of  comprehending  him." 

Here  the  princess  shook  her  head,  swaying  the 
beautiful  blond  curls,  full  of  heather,  with  a  touch- 
ing gesture.  This  plaintive  expression  of  grievous 
doubts  and  hidden  sorrows  is  indescribable.  Daniel 
understood  them  all;  and  he  looked  at  the  princess 
with  keen  emotion. 

"And  yet,  the  night  on  which  I  last  saw  him,  after 
the  revolution  of  July,  I  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
way  to  the  desire  I  felt  to  take  his  hand  and  press  it 
before  all  the  world,  under  the  peristyle  of  the  opera- 
house.  But  the  thought  came  to  me  that  such  a  proof 
of  gratitude  would  be  misinterpreted;  like  so  many 
other  little  things  done  from  noble  motives  which  are 
called  to-day  the  follies  of  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse, 
—  things  that  I  can  never  explain,  for  none  but  my 
son  and  God  have  understood  me." 

These  words,  breathed  into  the  ear  of  the  listener, 
in  tones  inaudible  to  the  other  guests,  and  with  accents 
worthy  of  the  cleverest   actress,   were  calculated   to 


134      Secrets  of  the  Princes se  de  Cadignan. 

reach  the  heart;  and  they  did  reach  that  of  d'Arthez. 
There  was  no  question  of  himself  in  the  matter ;  this 
woman  was  seeking  to  rehabilitate  herself  in  favor  of 
the  dead.  She  had  been  calumniated;  and  she  evi- 
dently wanted  to  know  if  anything  had  tarnished  her 
in  the  eyes  of  him  who  had  loved  her;  had  he  died 
with  all  his  illusions? 

"  Michel,"  replied  d'Arthez,  "was  one  of  those  men 
who  love  absolutely,  and  who,  if  they  choose  ill,  can 
suffer  without  renouncing  the  woman  they  have  once 
elected.'* 

"Was  I  loved  thus?"  she  said,  with  an  air  of 
exalted  beatitude. 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  I  made  his  happiness?  " 

"For  four  years." 

"A  woman  never  hears  of  such  a  thing  without  a 
sentiment  of  proud  satisfaction,"  she  said,  turning  her 
sweet  and  noble  face  to  d'Arthez  with  a  movement 
full  of  modest  confusion. 

One  of  the  most  skilful  manoeuvres  of  these  actresses 
is  to  veil  their  manner  when  words  are  too  expressive, 
and  speak  with  their  eyes  when  language  is  restrained. 
These  clever  discords,  slipped  into  the  music  of  their 
love,  be  it  false  or  true,  produce  irresistible  attractions. 

"Is  it  not,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice  and  her 
eyes,  after  feeling  well  assured  they  had  produced  her 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      135 

effect,  —  "is  it  not  fulfilling  one's  destiny  to  have 
rendered  a  great  man  happy  ?  " 

"Did  he  not  write  that  to  you?  " 

"Yes;  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure,  quite  sure;  for, 
believe  me,  monsieur,  in  putting  me  so  high  he  was 
not  mistaken." 

Women  know  how  to  give  a  peculiar  sacredness  to 
their  words;  they  communicate  something  vibrant  to 
them,  which  extends  the  meaning  of  their  ideas,  and 
gives  them  depth;  though  later  their  fascinated 
listener  may  not  remember  precisely  what  they  said, 
their  end  has  been  completely  attained,  —  which  is  the 
object  of  all  eloquence.  The  princess  might  at  that 
moment  have  been  wearing  the  diadem  of  France,  and 
her  brow  could  not  have  seemed  more  imposing  than 
it  was  beneath  that  crown  of  golden  hair,  braided  like 
a  coronet,  and  adorned  with  heather.  She  was  simple 
and  calm;  nothing  betrayed  a  sense  of  any  necessity 
to  appear  so,  nor  any  desire  to  seem  grand  or  loving. 
D'Arthez,  the  solitary  toiler,  to  whom  the  ways  of  the 
world  were  unknown,  whom  study  had  wrapped  in  its 
protecting  veils,  was  the  dupe  of  her  tones  and  words. 
He  was  under  the  spell  of  those  exquisite  manners;  he 
admired  that  perfect  beauty,  ripened  by  misfortune, 
placid  in  retirement;  he  adored  the  union  of  so  rare  a 
mind  and  so  noble  a  soul;  and  he  longed  to  become, 
himself,  the  heir  of  Michel  Chrestien. 


136       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

The  beginning  of  this  passion  was,  as  in  the  case 
of  almost  all  deep  thinkers,  an  idea.  Looking  at  the 
princess,  studying  the  shape  of  her  head,  the  arrange- 
ment of  those  sweet  features,  her  figure,  her  hand,  so 
finely  modelled,  closer  than  when  he  accompanied  his 
friend  in  their  wild  rush  through  the  streets,  he  was 
struck  by  the  surprising  phenomenon  of  the  moral 
second-sight  which  a  man  exalted  by  love  invariably 
finds  within  him.  With  what  lucidity  had  Michel 
Chrestien  read  into  that  soul,  that  heart,  illumined  by 
the  fires  of  love !  Thus  the  princess  acquired,  in 
d'Arthez's  eyes,  another  charm;  a  halo  of  poesy  sur- 
rounded her. 

As  the  dinner  proceeded,  Daniel  called  to  mind  the 
various  confidences  of  his  friend,  his  despair,  his 
hopes,  the  noble  poems  of  a  true  sentiment  sung  to 
his  ear  alone,  in  honor  of  this  woman.  It  is  rare  that 
a  man  passes  without  remorse  from  the  position  of 
confidant  to  that  of  rival,  and  d'Arthez  was  free  to  do 
so  without  dishonor.  He  had  suddenly,  in  a  moment, 
perceived  the  enormous  differences  existing  between 
a  well-bred  woman,  that  flower  of  the  great  world,  and 
common  women,  though  of  the  latter  he  did  not  know 
beyond  one  specimen.  He  was  thus  captured  on  the 
most  accessible  and  sensitive  sides  of  his  soul  and  of 
his  genius.  Impelled  by  his  simplicity,  and  b}'  the 
impetuosity  of  his  ideas,  to  lay  immediate  claim  to 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      137 

this  woman,  he  found  himself  restrained  by  society, 
also  by  the  barrier  which  the  manners  and,  let  us  say 
the  word,  the  majesty  of  the  princess  placed  between 
them.  The  conversation,  which  remained  upon  the 
topic  of  Michel  Chrestien  until  the  dessert,  was  an 
excellent  pretext  for  both  to  speak  in  a  low  voice: 
love,  sympathy,  comprehension!  she  could  pose  as  a 
maligned  and  misunderstood  woman;  he  could  slip 
his  feet  into  the  shoes  of  the  dead  republican.  Per- 
haps his  candid  mind  detected  itself  in  regretting  his 
dead  friend  less.  The  princess,  at  the  moment  when 
the  dessert  appeared  upon  the  table,  and  the  guests 
were  separated  by  a  brilliant  hedge  of  fruits  and  sweet- 
meats, thought  best  to  put  an  end  to  this  flow  of  con- 
fidences by  a  charming  little  speech,  in  which  she 
delicately  expressed  the  idea  that  Daniel  and  Michel 
were  twin  souls. 

After  this  d'Arthez  threw  himself  into  the  general 
conversation  with  the  gayety  of  a  child,  and  a  self- 
conceited  air  that  was  worthy  of  a  schoolboy.  When 
they  left  the  dining-room,  the  princess  took  d'Arthez 's 
arm,  in  the  simplest  manner,  to  return  to  Madame 
d'Espard's  little  salon.  As  they  crossed  the  grand 
salon  she  walked  slowly,  and  when  sufficiently  sep- 
arated from  the  marquise,  who  was  on  Blondet's  arm, 
she  stopped. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  inaccessible  to  the  friend  of 


138       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

that  poor  man,"  she  said  to  d'Arthez;  "and  though  I 
have  made  it  a  rule  to  receive  no  visitors,  you  will 
always  be  welcome  in  my  house.  Do  not  think  this  a 
favor.  A  favor  is  only  for  strangers,  and  to  my  mind 
you  and  I  seem  old  friends;  I  see  in  you  the  brother 
of  Michel." 

D'Arthez  could  only  press  her  arm,  unable  to  make 
other  reply. 

After  coffee  was  served,  Diane  de  Cadignan  wrapped 
herself,  with  coquettish  motions,  in  a  large  shawl,  and 
rose.  Blondet  and  Rastignac  were  too  much  men  of 
the  world,  and  too  politic  to  make  the  least  remon- 
strance, or  try  to  detain  her;  but  Madame  d'Espard 
compelled  her  friend  to  sit  down  again,  whispering  in 
her  ear :  — 

"Wait  till  the  servants  have  had  their  dinner;  the 
carriage  is  not  ready  yet" 

So  saying,  the  marquise  made  a  sign  to  the  foot- 
man, who  was  taking  away  the  coffee-tray.  Madame 
de  Montcornet  perceived  that  the  princess  and  Madame 
d'Espard  had  a  word  to  say  to  each  other,  and  she 
drew  around  her  d'Arthez,  Rastignac,  and  Blondet, 
amusing  them  with  one  of  those  clever  paradoxi- 
cal attacks  which  Parisian  women  understand  so 
thoroughly. 

"  Well,"  said  the  marquise  to  Diane,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  him  ?  " 


Secrets  of  the  Prineesse  de  Cadignan.       139 

"  He  is  an  adorable  child,  just  out  of  swaddling- 
clothes  !  This  time,  like  all  other  times,  it  will  ouly 
be  a  triumph  without  a  struggle." 

"  Well,  it  is  disappointing,"  said  Madame  d'Espard. 
"  But  we  might  evade  it." 

"How?" 

"  Let  me  be  your  rival." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  replied  the  princess.  "  I  've 
decided  on  my  course.  Genius  is  a  condition  of  the 
brain;  I  don't  know  what  the  heart  gets  out  of  it; 
we'll  talk  about  that  later." 

Hearing  the  last  few  words,  which  were  wholly  in- 
comprehensible to  her,  Madame  d'Espard  returned  to 
the  general  conversation,  showing  neither  offence  at 
that  indifferent  "As  you  please,"  nor  curiosity  as  to 
the  outcome  of  the  interview.  The  princess  stayed 
an  hour  longer,  seated  on  the  sofa  near  the  fire,  in  the 
careless,  nonchalant  attitude  of  Guerin's  Dido,  listen- 
ins:  with  the  attention  of  an  absorbed  mind,  and  look- 
ing  at  Daniel  now  and  then,  without  disguising  her 
admiration,  which  never  went,  however,  beyond  due 
limits.  She  slipped  away  when  the  carriage  was 
announced,  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand  to  the  mar- 
quise, and  an  inclination  of  the  head  to  Madame  de 
Montcornet. 

The  evening  concluded  without  any  allusion  to  the 
princess.     The  other  guests  profited  by  the  sort  of 


140       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

exaltation  -which  d'Arthez  had  reached,  for  he  put 
forth  the  treasures  of  his  mind.  In  Blondet  and 
Rastignac  he  certainly  had  two  acolytes  of  the  first 
quality  to  bring  forth  the  delicacy  of  his  wit  and  the 
breadth  of  his  intellect.  As  for  the  two  women,  they 
had  long  been  counted  among  the  cleverest  in  society. 
This  evening  was  like  a  halt  in  the  oasis  of  a  desert, — 
a  rare  enjoyment,  and  well  appreciated  by  these  four 
persons,  habitually  victimized  to  the  endless  caution 
entailed  by  the  world  of  salons  and  politics.  There 
are  beings  wiio  have  the  privilege  of  passing  among 
men  like  beneficent  stars,  whose  light  illumines  the 
mind,  while  its  rays  send  a  glow  to  the  heart. 
D'Arthez  was  one  of  those  beings.  A  writer  who 
rises  to  his  level,  accustoms  himself  to  free  thought, 
and  forgets  that  in  society  all  things  cannot  be  said; 
it  is  impossible  for  such  a  man  to  observe  the  restraint 
of  persons  who  live  in  the  world  perpetually;  but  as 
his  eccentricities  of  thought  bore  the  mark  of  origi- 
nality, no  one  felt  inclined  to  complain.  This  zest, 
this  piquancy,  rare  in  mere  talent,  this  youthfulness 
and  simplicity  of  soul  which  made  d'Arthez  so  nobly 
original,  gave  a  delightful  charm  to  this  evening. 
He  left  the  house  with  Rastignac,  who,  as  they  drove 
home,  asked  him  how  he  liked  the  princess. 

"Michel  did  well  to  love  her,"  replied  d'Arthez; 
"she  is,  indeed,  an  sxtraordinary  woman.' 


j> 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       141 

"Very  extraordinary,"  replied  Rastignac,  dryly. 
"By  the  tone  of  your  voice  I  should  judge  you  were 
in  love  with  her  already.  You  will  be  in  her  house 
within  three  days;  and  I  am  too  old  a  denizen  of 
Paris  not  to  know  what  will  be  the  upshot  of  that. 
Well,  my  dear  Daniel,  I  do  entreat  you  not  to  allow 
yourself  to  be  drawn  into  any  confusion  of  interests, 
so  to  speak.  Love  the  princess  if  you  feel  any  love 
for  her  in  your  heart,  but  keep  an  eye  on  your  fortune. 
She  has  never  taken  or  asked  a  penny  from  any  man 
on  earth,  she  is  far  too  much  of  a  d'Uxelles  and  a 
Cadignan  for  that;  but,  to  my  knowledge,  she  has 
not  only  spent  her  own  fortune,  which  was  very  con- 
siderable, but  she  has  made  others  waste  millions. 
How?  why?  by  what  means?  No  one  knows;  she 
does  n't  know  herself.  I  myself  saw  her  swallow  up, 
some  thirteen  years  ago,  the  entire  fortune  of  a  charm- 
ing young  fellow,  and  that  of  an  old  notary,  in  twenty 
months." 

"Thirteen    years    ago!"    exclaimed    d'Arthez, — 

why,  how  old  is  she  now?" 

Did  n't  you  see,  at  dinner,"  replied  Rastignac, 
laughing,  "  her  son,  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse.  That 
young  man  is  nineteen  years  old ;  nineteen  and  seven- 
teen make  —  " 

"Thirty-six!"  cried  the  amazed  author.  "I  gave 
her  twenty." 


142       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 


u 


She'll  accept  them,"  said  Rastignac;  "but  dou't 
be  uneasy,  she  will  always  be  twenty  to  you.  You 
are  about  to  enter  the  most  fantastic  of  worlds. 
Good-night,  here  you  are  at  home,"  said  the  baron, 
as  they  entered  the  rue  de  Belief ond,  where  d'Aithez 
lived  in  a  pretty  little  house  of  his  own.  "We  shall 
meet  at  Mademoiselle  des  Touehes's  in  the  course  of 
the  week." 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       143 


III. 


THE    PRINCESS    GOES    TO    WORK. 

D'Arthez  allowed  love  to  enter  his  heart  after  the 
manner  of  my  Uncle  Toby,  without  making  the 
slightest  resistance;  he  proceeded  by  adoration  with- 
out criticism,  and  by  exclusive  admiration.  The  prin- 
cess, that  noble  creature,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
creations  of  our  monstrous  Paris,  where  all  things  are 
possible,  good  as  well  as  evil,  became  —  whatever 
vulgarity  the  course  of  time  may  have  given  to  the 
expression  —  the  angel  of  his  dream.  To  fully  under- 
stand the  sudden  transformation  of  this  illustrious 
author,  it  is  necessary  to  realize  the  simplicity  that 
constant  work  and  solitude  leave  in  the  heart ;  all  that 
love  —  reduced  to  a  mere  need,  and  now  repugnant, 
beside  an  ignoble  woman  —  excites  of  regret  and  long- 
ings for  diviner  sentiments  in  the  higher  regions  of  the 
soul.  D'Arthez  was,  indeed,  the  child,  the  boy  that 
Madame  de  Cadignan  had  recognized.  An  illumina- 
tion something  like  his  own  had  taken  place  in  the 
beautiful  Diane.  At  last  she  had  met  that  superior 
man  whom  all  women  desire  and  seek,  if  only  to  make 


144      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

a  plaything  of  him,  —  that  power  which  they  consent  to 
obey,  if  only  for  the  pleasure  of  subduing  it ;  at  last 
she  had  found  the  grandeurs  of  the  intellect  united 
with  the  simplicity  of  a  heart  all  new  to  love;  and 
she  saw,  with  untold  happiness,  that  these  merits  were 
contained  in  a  form  that  pleased  her.  She  thought 
d'Arthez  handsome,  and  perhaps  he  was.  Though  he 
had  reached  the  age  of  gravity  (for  he  was  now  thirty- 
eight),  he  still  preserved  a  flower  of  youth,  due  to  the 
sober  and  ascetic  life  which  he  had  led.  Like  all 
men  of  sedentary  habits,  and  statesmen,  he  had  ac- 
quired a  certainly  reasonable  embonpoint.  When  very 
young,  he  bore  some  resemblance  to  Bonaparte;  and 
the  likeness  still  continued,  as  much  as  a  man  with 
black  eyes  and  thick,  dark  hair  could  resemble  a 
sovereign  with  blue  eyes  and  scanty,  chestnut  hair. 
But  whatever  there  once  was  of  ardent  and  noble 
ambition  in  the  great  author's  eyes  had  been  some- 
what quenched  by  successes.  The  thoughts  with 
which  that  brow  once  teemed  had  flowered;  the  lines 
of  the  hollow  face  were  filling  out.  Ease  now  spread 
its  golden  tints  where,  in  youth,  poverty  had  laid  the 
yellow  tones  of  the  class  of  temperament  whose  forces 
band  together  to  support  a  crushing  and  long-con- 
tinued struggle.  If  you  observe  carefully  the  noble 
faces  of  ancient  philosophers,  you  will  alwa}Ts  find 
those  deviations  from   the   type  of  a   perfect  human 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       145 

face  which  show  the  characteristic  to  which  each 
countenance  owes  its  originality,  chastened  by  the 
habit  of  meditation,  and  by  the  calmness  necessary 
for  intellectual  labor.  The  most  irregular  features, 
like  those  of  Socrates,  for  instance,  become,  after  a 
time,  expressive  of  an  almost  divine  serenity. 

To  the  noble  simplicity  which  characterized  his 
head,  d'Arthez  added  a  naive  expression,  the  natural- 
ness of  a  child,  and  a  touching  kindliness.  He  did 
not  have  that  politeness  tinged  with  insincerity  with 
which,  in  society,  the  best-bred  persons  and  the  most 
amiable  assume  qualities  in  which  they  are  often 
lacking,  leaving  those  they  have  thus  duped  wounded 
and  distressed.  He  might,  indeed,  fail  to  observe 
certain  rules  of  social  life,  owing  to  his  isolated  mode 
of  living ;  but  he  never  shocked  the  sensibilities,  and 
therefore  this  perfume  of  savagery  made  the  peculiar 
affability  of  a  man  of  great  talent  the  more  agreeable; 
such  men  know  how  to  leave  their  superiority  in  their 
studies,  and  come  down  to  the  social  level,  lending 
their  backs,  like  Henri  IV.,  to  the  children's  leap- 
frog, and  their  minds  to  fools. 

If  d'Arthez  did  not  brace  himself  against  the  spell 
which  the  princess  had  cast  about  him,  neither  did 
she  herself  argue  the  matter  in  her  own  mind,  on 
returning  home.  It  was  settled  for  her.  She  loved 
with  all  her  knowledge  and  all  her  ignorance.     If  she 

10 


146       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

questioned  herself  at  all,  it  was  to  ask  whether  she 
deserved  so  great  a  happiness,  and  what  she  had  done 
that  Heaven  should  send  her  such  an  angel.  She 
wanted  to  be  worthy  of  that  love,  to  perpetuate  it,  to 
make  it  her  own  forever,  and  to  gently  end  her  career 
of  frivolity  in  the  paradise  she  now  foresaw.  As  for 
coquetting,  quibbling,  resisting,  she  never  once 
thought  of  it.  She  was  thinking  of  something  very 
different!  —  of  the  grandeur  of  men  of  genius,  and  the 
certainty  which  her  heart  divined  that  they  would 
never  subject  the  woman  they  chose  to  ordinary  laws. 

Here  begins  one  of  those  unseen  comedies,  played 
in  the  secret  regions  of  the  consciousness  between  two 
beings  of  whom  one  will  be  the  dupe  of  the  other, 
though  it  keeps  on  this  side  of  wickedness;  one  of 
those  dark  and  comic  dramas  to  which  that  of  Tartuffe 
is  mere  child's  play,  —  dramas  that  do  not  enter  the 
scenic  domain,  although  they  are  natural,  conceivable, 
and  even  justifiable  by  necessity;  dramas  which  may 
be  characterized  as  not  vice,  only  the  other  side  of  it. 

The  princess  began  by  sending  for  d'Arthez's 
books,  of  which  she  had  never,  as  yet,  read  a  single 
word,  although  she  had  managed  to  maintain  a  twenty 
minutes'  eulogium  and  discussion  of  them  without  a 
blunder.  She  now  read  them  all.  Then  she  wanted 
to  compare  these  books  with  the  best  that  contem- 
porary literature  had  produced.     By  the  time  d'Arthez 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       147 

came  to  see  her  she  was  having  an  indigestion  of 
mind.  Expecting  this  visit,  she  had  daily  made  a 
toilet  of  what  may  be  called  the  superior  order; 
that  is,  a  toilet  which  expresses  an  idea,  and  makes  it 
accepted  by  the  eye  without  the  owner  of  the  eye 
knowing  why  or  wherefore.  She  presented  an  harmoni- 
ous combination  of  shades  of  gray,  a  sort  of  semi- 
mourning,  full  of  graceful  renunciation, —  the  garments 
of  a  woman  who  holds  to  life  only  through  a  few  natu- 
ral ties, —  her  child,  for  instance, —  but  who  is  weary 
of  life.  Those  garments  bore  witness  to  an  elegant 
disgust,  not  reaching,  however,  as  far  as  suicide ;  no, 
she  would  live  out  her  days  in  these  earthly  galleys. 

She  received  d'Arthez  as  a  woman  who  expected 
him,  and  as  if  he  had  already  been  to  see  her  a  hun- 
dred times;  she  did  him  the  honor  to  treat  him  like 
an  old  acquaintance,  and  she  put  him  at  his  ease  by 
pointing  to  a  seat  on  a  sofa,  while  she  finished  a  note 
she  was  then  writing.  The  conversation  began  in 
a  commonplace  manner:  the  weather,  the  ministry, 
de  Marsay's  illness,  the  hopes  of  the  legitimists. 
D'Arthez  was  an  absolutist;  the  princess  could  not 
be  ignorant  of  the  opinions  of  a  man  who  sat  in  the 
Chamber  among  the  fifteen  or  twenty  persons  who 
represented  the  legitimist  party ;  she  found  means  to 
tell  him  how  she  had  fooled  de  Marsay  to  the  top  of 
his   bent;  then,  by   an   easy  transition    to    the   royal 


148       Sec7'ets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

family  and  to  Madame,  and  the  devotion  of  the  Prince 
de  Cadignan  to  their  service,  she  drew  d'Arthez's 
attention  to  the  prince :  — 

"  There  is  this  to  be  said  for  him:  he  loved  his  mas- 
ters, and  was  faithful  to  them.  His  public  character 
consoles  me  for  the  sufferings  his  private  life  has 
inflicted  upon  me —  Have  you  never  remarked,"  she 
went  on,  cleverly  leaving  the  prince  aside,  "  you  who 
observe  so  much,  that  men  have  two  natures:  one  for 
their  homes,  their  wives,  their  private  lives,  —  this  is 
their  true  self;  here  no  mask,  no  dissimulation;  they 
do  not  give  themselves  the  trouble  to  disguise  a  feel- 
ing; they  are  what  they  are,  and  it  is  often  horrible! 
The  other  man  is  for  others,  for  the  world,  for  salons; 
the  court,  the  sovereign,  the  public  often  see  them 
grand,  and  noble,  and  generous,  embroidered  with 
virtues,  adorned  with  fine  language,  full  of  admirable 
qualities.  What  a  horrible  jest  it  is!  —  and  the  world 
is  surprised,  sometimes,  at  the  caustic  smile  of  certain 
women,  at  their  air  of  superiority  to  their  husbands, 
and  their  indifference  —  " 

She  let  her  hand  fall  along  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
without  ending  her  sentence,  but  the  gesture  admirably 
completed  the  speech.  She  saw  d'Arthez  watching 
her  flexible  figure,  gracefully  bending  in  the  depths  of 
her  eas}7-chair,  noting  the  folds  of  her  gown,  and  the 
pretty  little  ruffle  which  sported  on  her  breast,  —  one 


Secrets  of  the  P?'lncesse  de  Cadignan,     149 

of  those  audacities  of  the  toilet  that  are  suited  only 
to  slender  waists,  —  aud  she  resumed  the  thread  of  her 
thoughts  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  herself:  — 

"  But  I  will  say  no  more.  You  writers  have  ended 
by  making  ridiculous  all  women  who  think  they  are 
misunderstood,  or  ill-mated,  and  who  try  to  make 
themselves  dramatically  interesting, —  attempts  which 
seem  to  me,  I  must  say,  intolerably  vulgar.  There 
are  but  two  things  for  women  in  that  plight  to  do,  — 
yield,  and  all  is  over;  resist,  and  amuse  themselves; 
in  either  case  they  should  keep  silence.  It  is  true 
that  I  neither  yielded  wholly,  nor  resisted  wholly ;  but, 
perhaps,  that  was  only  the  more  reason  why  I  should 
be  silent.  What  folly  for  women  to  complain!  If 
they  have  not  proved  the  stronger,  they  have  failed  in 
sense,  in  tact,  in  capacity,  and  they  deserve  their 
fate.  Are  they  not  queens  in  France?  They  can  play 
with  you  as  they  like,  when  they  like,  and  as  much 
as  they  like."  Here  she  danced  her  vinaigrette  with 
an  airy  movement  of  feminine  impertinence  and 
mocking  gayety.  "  I  have  often  heard  miserable  little 
specimens  of  my  sex  regretting  that  they  were  women, 
wishing  they  were  men;  I  have  always  regarded  them 
with  pity.  If  I  had  to  choose,  I  should  still  elect  to 
be  a  woman.  A  fine  pleasure,  indeed,  to  owe  one's 
triumph  to  force,  and  to  all  those  powers  which  you 
give   yourselves  by  the  laws  you  make!     But  to  see 


150      Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

you  at  our  feet,  saying  and  doing  foolish  things,  — 
ah!  it  is  an  intoxicating  pleasure  to  feel  within  our 
souls  that  weakness  triumphs!  But  when  we  triumph, 
we  ought  to  keep  silence,  under  pain  of  losing  our 
empire.  Beaten,  a  woman's  pride  should  gag  her. 
The  slave's  silence  alarms  the  master." 

This  chatter  was  uttered  in  a  voice  so  softly  sarcas- 
tic, so  dainty,  and  with  such  coquettish  motions  of 
the  head,  that  d'Arthez,  to  whom  this  style  of  woman 
was  totally  unknown,  sat  before  her  exactly  like  a 
partridge  charmed  by  a  setter. 

"I  entreat  you,  madame,"  he  said,  at  last,  "to  tell 
me  how  it  was  possible  that  a  man  could  make  you 
suffer?  Be  assured  that  where,  as  you  say,  other 
women  are  common  and  vulgar,  you  can  only  seem 
distinguished;  your  manner  of  saying  things  would 
make  a  cook-book  interesting." 

"You  go  fast  in  friendship,"  she  said,  in  a  grave 
voice  which  made  d'Arthez  extremely  uneasy. 

The  conversation  changed;  the  hour  was  late,  and 
the  poor  man  of  genius  wrent  away  contrite  for  having 
seemed  curious,  and  for  wounding  the  sensitive  heart 
of  that  rare  woman  who  had  so  strangely  suffered. 
As  for  her,  she  had  passed  her  life  in  amusing  herself 
with  men,  and  was  another  Don  Juan  in  female  attire, 
with  this  difference:  she  would  certainly  not  have 
invited  the  Commander  to  supper,  and  would  have 
got  the  better  of  any  statue. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan.      151 

It  is  impossible  to  continue  this  tale  without  saying 
a  word  about  the  Prince  de  Cadignan,  better  known 
under  the  name  of  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse;  other- 
wise the  spice  of  the  princess's  confidences  would  be 
lost,  and  strangers  would  not  understand  the  Parisian 
comedy  she  was  about  to  play  for  her  man  of  genius. 

The  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  like  a  true  son  of  the  old 
Prince  de  Cadignan,  is  a  tall,  lean  man,  of  elegant 
shape,  very  graceful,  a  sayer  of  witty  things,  colonel 
by  the  grace  of  God,  and  a  good  soldier  by  accident; 
brave  as  a  Pole,  which  means  without  sense  or  dis- 
cernment, and  hiding  the  emptiness  of  his  mind  under 
the  jargon  of  good  society.  After  the  age  of  thirty- 
six  he  was  forced  to  be  as  absolutely  indifferent  to  the 
fair  sex  as  his  master  Charles  X.,  punished,  like  that 
master,  for  having  pleased  it  too  well.  For  eighteen 
years  the  idol  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  he  had, 
like  other  heirs  of  great  families,  led  a  dissipated  life, 
spent  solely  on  pleasure.  His  father,  ruined  by  the 
revolution,  had  somewhat  recovered  his  position  on 
the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  as  governor  of  a  royal 
domain,  with  salary  and  perquisites;  but  this  uncer- 
tain fortune  the  old  prince  spent,  as  it  came,  in  keep- 
ing up  the  traditions  of  a  great  seigneur  before  the 
revolution;  so  that  when  the  law  of  indemnity  was 
passed,  the  sums  he  received  were  all  swallowed  up 
in  the  luxury  he  displayed  in  his  vast  hotel. 


152     Secrets  of  the  Prineesse  de   Cadignan. 

The  old  prince  died  some  little  time  before  the  rev- 
olution of  July,  aged  eighty-seven.  He  had  ruined 
his  wife,  and  had  long  been  on  bad  terms  with  the 
Due  de  Navarreins,  who  had  married  his  daughter  for 
a  first  wife,  and  to  whom  he  very  reluctantly  rendered 
his  accounts.  The  Due  de  Maufrigueuse,  early  in 
life,  had  had  relations  with  the  Duchesse  d'Uxelles. 
About  the  year  1814,  when  Monsieur  de  Maufrigneuse 
was  forty-six  years  of  age,  the  duchess,  pitying  his 
poverty,  and  seeing  that  he  stood  very  well  at  court, 
gave  him  her  daughter  Diane,  then  in  her  seventeenth 
year,  and  possessing,  in  her  own  right,  some  fifty  or 
sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  not  counting  her  future 
expectations.  Mademoiselle  d'Uxelles  thus  became 
a  duchess,  and,  as  her  mother  very  well  knew,  she 
enjoyed  the  utmost  liberty.  The  duke,  after  obtain- 
ing the  unexpected  happiness  of  an  heir,  left  his  wife 
entirely  to  her  own  devices,  and  went  off  to  amuse 
himself  in  the  various  garrisons  of  France,  returning 
occasionally  to  Paris,  where  he  made  debts  which 
his  father  paid.  He  professed  the  most  entire  con- 
jugal indulgence,  always  giving  the  duchess  a  week's 
warning  of  his  return ;  he  was  adored  by  his  regiment, 
beloved  by  the  Dauphin,  an  adroit  courtier,  somewhat 
of  a  gambler,  and  totally  devoid  of  affectation.  Hav- 
ing succeeded  to  his  father's  office  as  governor  of  one 
of  the  royal  domains,  he  managed  to  please  the  two 


Secrets  of  the  Prlncesse  de  Cadignan.       153 

kings,  Louis  XVIII.  and  Charles  X.,  which  proves  he 
made  the  most  of  his  nonentity;  and  even  the  liberals 
liked  him;  but  his  conduct  and  his  life  were  covered 
with  the  finest  varnish;  language,  noble  manners,  and 
deportment  were  brought  by  him  to  a  state  of  per- 
fection. But,  as  the  old  prince  said,  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  continue  the  traditions  of  the  Cadignans, 
who  were  all  well  known  to  have  ruined  their  wives, 
for  the  duchess  was  running  through  her  property  on 
her  own  account. 

These  particulars  were  so  well  understood  in  the 
court  circles  and  in  the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  that 
during  the  last  five  years  of  the  Restoration  they  were 
considered  ancient  history,  and  any  one  who  men- 
tioned them  would  have  been  laughed  at.  Women 
never  spoke  of  the  charming  duke  without  praising 
him;  he  was  excellent,  they  said,  to  his  wife;  could 
a  man  be  better?  He  had  left  her  the  entire  disposal 
of  her  own  property,  and  had  always  defended  her  on 
every  occasion.  It  is  true  that,  whether  from  pride, 
kindliness,  or  chivalry,  Monsieur  de  Maufrigneuse 
had  saved  the  duchess  under  various  circumstances 
which  might  have  ruined  other  women,  in  spite  of 
Diane's  surroundings,  and  the  influence  of  her  mother 
and  that  of  the  Due  de  Navarreins,  her  father-in-law, 
and  her  husband's  aunt. 

For  several  ensuing  days  the  princess  revealed  her- 


154       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

self  to  d'Arthez  as  remarkable  for  her  knowledge  of 
literature.  She  discussed  with  perfect  fearlessness 
the  most  difficult  questions,  thanks  to  her  daily  and 
nightly  reading,  pursued  with  an  intrepidity  worthy 
of  the  highest  praise.  D'Arthez,  amazed,  and  incap- 
able of  suspecting  that  Diane  d'Uxelles  merely 
repeated  at  night  that  which  she  read  in  the  morning 
(as  some  writers  do),  regarded  her  as  a  most  superior 
woman.  These  conversations,  however,  led  away 
from  Diane's  object,  and  she  tried  to  get  back  to  the 
region  of  confidences  from  which  d'Arthez  had  pru- 
dently retired  after  her  coquettish  rebuff;  but  it  was 
not  as  easy  as  she  expected  to  bring  back  a  man  of 
his  nature  who  had  once  been  startled  away. 

However,  after  a  month  of  literary  campaigning 
and  the  finest  platonic  discourses,  d'Arthez  grew 
bolder,  and  arrived  every  day  at  three  o'clock.  He 
retired  at  six,  and  returned  at  nine,  to  remain  until 
midnight,  or  one  in  the  morning,  with  the  regularity 
of  an  ardent  and  impatient  lover.  The  princess  was 
always  dressed  with  more  or  less  studied  elegance 
at  the  hour  when  d'Arthez  presented  himself.  This 
mutual  fidelity,  the  care  they  each  took  of  their  appear- 
ance, in  fact,  all  about  them  expressed  sentiments 
that  neither  dared  avow,  for  the  princess  discerned 
very  plainly  that  the  great  child  with  whom  she  had 
to  do  shrank  from  the  combat  as  much  as  she  desired 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       155 

it.  Nevertheless  d'Arthez  put  into  his  mnte  declara- 
tions a  respectful  awe  which  was  infinitely  pleasing 
to  her.  Both  felt,  every  day,  all  the  more  united 
because  nothing  acknowledged  or  definite  checked  the 
course  of  their  ideas,  as  occurs  between  lovers  when 
there  are  formal  demands  on  one  side,  and  sincere  or 
coquettish  refusals  on  the  other. 

Lik6  all  men  younger  than  their  actual  age,  d'Arthez 
was  a  prey  to  those  agitating  irresolutions  which  are 
caused  by  the  force  of  desires  and  the  terror  of  dis- 
pleasing,—  a  situation  which  a  young  woman  does  not 
comprehend  when  she  shares  it,  but  which  the  princess 
had  too  often  deliberately  produced  not  to  enjoy  its 
pleasures.  In  fact,  Diane  enjoyed  these  delightful 
juvenilities  all  the  more  keenly  because  she  knew  that 
she  could  put  an  end  to  them  at  any  moment.  She 
was  like  a  great  artist  delighting  in  the  vague,  un- 
decided lines  of  his  sketch,  knowing  well  that  in  a 
moment  of  inspiration  he  can  complete  the  master- 
piece still  waiting  to  come  to  birth.  Many  a  time, 
seeing  d'Arthez  on  the  point  of  advancing,  she  enjoyed 
stopping  him  short,  with  an  imposing  air  and  man- 
ner. She  drove  back  the  hidden  storms  of  that  still 
young  heart,  raised  them  again,  and  stilled  them  with 
a  look,  holding  out  her  hand  to  be  kissed,  or  saying 
some  trifling  insignificant  words  in  a  tender  voice. 

These    manoeuvres,    planned    in    cold    blood,   but 


156       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

enchantingly  executed,  carved  her  image  deeper  and 
deeper  on  the  soul  of  that  great  writer  and  thinker 
whom  she  revelled  in  making  childlike,  confiding, 
simple,  and  almost  silly  beside  her.  And  yet  she  had 
moments  of  repulsion  against  her  own  act,  moments 
in  which  she  could  not  help  admiring  the  grandeur  of 
such  simplicity.  This  game  of  choicest  coquetry 
attached  her,  insensibly,  to  her  slave.  At  last,  how- 
ever, Diane  grew  impatient  with  an  Epictetus  of  love; 
and  when  she  thought  she  had  trained  him  to  the 
utmost  credulity,  she  set  to  work  to  tie  a  thicker 
bandage  still  over  his  eyes. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       157 


IV, 

THE    CONFESSION    OF    A    PRETTY   WOMAN. 

One  evening  Daniel  found  the  princess  thoughtful, 
one  elbow  resting  on  a  little  table,  her  beautiful  blond 
head  bathed  in  light  from  the  lamp.  She  was  toying 
with  a  letter  which  lay  on  the  table-cloth.  When 
d'Arthez  had  seen  the  paper  distinctly,  she  folded  it 
up,  and  stuck  it  in  her  belt. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  asked  d'Arthez ;  "  you  seem 
distressed." 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  from  Monsieur  de 
Cadignan,"  she  replied.  "However  great  the  wrongs 
he  has  done  me,  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  his  exile 
—  without  family,  without  son  —  from  his  native  land." 

These  words,  said  in  a  soulful  voice,  betrayed 
angelic  sensibility.  D'Arthez  was  deeply  moved. 
The  curiosity  of  the  lover  became,  so  to  speak,  a 
psychological  and  literary  curiosity.  He  wanted  to 
know  the  height  that  woman  had  attained,  and  what 
were  the  injuries  she  thus  forgave ;  he  longed  to  know 
how  these  women  of  the  world,  taxed  with  frivolity, 
cold-heartedness,  and  egotism,  could  be  such  angels. 


158       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

Remembering  how  the  princess  had  already  repulsed 
him  when  he  first  tried  to  read  that  celestial  heart,  his 
voice,  and  he  himself,  trembled  as  he  took  the  trans- 
parent, slender  hand  of  the  beautiful  Diane  with  its 
curving  finger-tips,  and  said .  — 

"  Are  we  now  such  friends  that  you  will  tell  me 
what  you  have  suffered  ?  " 

uYes,"  she  said,  breathing  forth  the  syllable  like 
the  most  mellifluous  note  that  Tulou's  flute  had  ever 
sighed. 

Then  she  fell  into  a  revery,  and  her  eyes  were 
veiled.  Daniel  remained  in  a  state  of  anxious  expec- 
tation, impressed  with  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion. 
His  poetic  imagination  made  him  see,  as  it  were, 
clouds  slowly  dispersing  and  disclosing  to  him  the 
sanctuary  where  the  wounded  lamb  was  kneeling  at 
the  divine  feet. 

"Well?"  he  said,  in  a  soft,  still  voice. 

Diane  looked  at  the  tender  petitioner;  then  she 
lowered  her  eyes  slowly,  dropping  their  lids  with  a 
movement  of  noble  modesty.  None  but  a  monster 
would  have  been  capable  of  imagining  hypocrisy  in 
the  graceful  undulation  of  the  neck  with  which  the 
princess  again  lifted  her  charming  head,  to  look  once 
more  into  the  eager  eyes  of  that  great  man. 

"  Can  I?  ought  I?  "  she  murmured,  with  a  gesture  of 
hesitation,  gazing  at  d'Arthez  with  a  sublime  expres- 


Secrets  of  the  Prlncesse  de  Oadignan.       159 

sion  of  dreamy  tenderness.  "Men  have  so  little  faith 
in  things  of  this  kind ;  they  think  themselves  so  little 
bound  to  be  discreet !  " 

"Ah!  if  you  distrust  me,  why  am  I  here?"  cried 
d'Arthez. 

"Oh,  friend!  "  she  said,  giving  to  the  exclamation 
the  grace  of  an  involuntary  avowal,  "when  a  woman 
attaches  herself  for  life,  think  you  she  calculates  ?  It 
is  not  a  question  of  refusal  (how  could  I  refuse  you 
anything?),  but  the  idea  of  what  you  may  think  of 
me  if  I  speak.  I  would  willingly  confide  to  you  the 
strange  position  in  which  I  am  at  my  age ;  but  what 
would  you  think  of  a  woman  who  could  reveal  the 
secret  wounds  of  her  married  life  ?  Turenne  kept  his 
word  to  robbers;  do  I  not  owe  to  my  torturers  the 
honor  of  a  Turenne?" 

"  Have  you  passed  your  word  to  say  nothing?  " 

"  Monsieur  de  Cadignan  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  bind  me  to  secrecy  —  You  are  asking  more  than 
my  soul!  Tyrant!  you  want  me  to  bury  my  honor 
itself  in  your  breast,"  she  said,  casting  upon  d'Arthez 
a  look,  by  which  she  gave  more  value  to  her  coming 
confidence  than  to  her  personal  self. 

"You  must  think  me  a  very  ordinary  man,  if  you 
fear  any  evil,  no  matter  what,  from  me,"  he  said, 
with  ill-concealed  bitterness. 

"Forgive  me,  friend,"  she  replied,  taking  his  hand 


160       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

in  hers  caressingly,  and  letting  her  fingers  wander 
gently  over  it.  "I  know  your  worth.  You  have 
related  to  me  your  whole  life ;  it  is  noble,  it  is  beau- 
tiful, it  is  sublime,  and  worthy  of  your  name;  per- 
haps, in  return,  I  owe  you  mine.  But  I  fear  to  lower 
myself  in  your  eyes  by  relating  secrets  which  are  not 
wholly  mine.  How  can  you  believe  —  you,  a  man  of 
solitude  and  poesy  —  the  horrors  of  social  life?  Ah! 
you  little  think  when  you  invent  your  dramas  that 
they  are  far  surpassed  by  those  that  are  played  in 
families  apparently  united.  You  are  wholly  ignorant 
of  certain  gilded  sorrows." 

"  I  know  all!  "  he  cried. 

"  No,  you  know  nothing." 

D'Arthez  felt  like  a  man  lost  on  the  Alps  of  a 
dark  night,  who  sees,  at  the  first  gleams  of  dawn,  a 
precipice  at  his  feet.  He  looked  at  the  princess  with 
a  bewildered  air,  and  felt  a  cold  chill  running  down 
his  back.  Diane  thought  for  a  moment  that  her  man 
of  genius  was  a  weakling,  but  a  flash  from  his  eyes 
reassured  her. 

"You  have  become  to  me  almost  my  judge,"  she 
said,  with  a  desperate  air.  "I  must  speak  now,  in 
virtue  of  the  right  that  all  calumniated  beings  have 
to  show  their  innocence.  I  have  been,  I  am  still  (if 
a  poor  recluse  forced  by  the  world  to  renounce  the 
world  is  still  remembered)  accused  of  such  light  con- 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de    Cadignan.      161 

duct,  and  so  many  evil  things,  that  it  may  be  allowed 
me  to  find  in  one  strong  heart  a  haven  from  which  I 
cannot  be  driven.  Hitherto  I  have  always  considered 
self-justification  an  iusult  to  innocence;  and  that  is 
why  I  have  disdained  to  defend  myself.  Besides,  to 
whom  could  I  appeal?  Such  cruel  things  can  be 
confided  to  none  but  God  or  to  one  who  seems  to 
us  very  near  Him  —  a  priest,  or  another  self. 
Well!  I  do  know  this,  if  my  secrets  are  not  as  safe 
there,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  d'Arthez's  heart, 
"  as  they  are  here"  (pressing  the  upper  end  of  her 
busk  beneath  her  fingers),"  then  you  are  not  the  grand 
d'Arthez  I  think  you — I  shall  have  been  deceived." 

A  tear  moistened  d'Arthez's  eyes,  and  Diane  drank 
it  in  with  a  side  look,  which,  however,  gave  no  motion 
either  to  the  pupils  or  the  lids  of  her  eyes.  It  was 
quick  and  neat,  like  the  action  of  a  cat  pouncing  on 
a  mouse. 

D'Arthez,  for  the  first  time,  after  sixty  days  of 
protocols,  ventured  to  take  that  warm  and  perfumed 
hand,  and  press  it  to  his  lips  with  a  long-drawn  kiss, 
extending  from  the  wrist  to  the  tip  of  the  fingers, 
which  made  the  princess  augur  well  of  literature. 
She  thought  to  herself  that  men  of  genius  must  know 
how  to  love  with  more  perfection  than  conceited  fops, 
men  of  the  world,  diplomatists,  and  even  soldiers, 
although  such  beings  have  nothing  else  to  do.     She 

11 


162     Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

was  a  connoisseur,  and  knew  very  well  that  the 
capacity  for  love  reveals  itself  chiefly  in  mere  noth- 
ings. A  woman  well  informed  in  such  matters  can 
read  her  future  in  a  simple  gesture;  just  as  Cuvier 
could  say  from  the  fragment  of  a  bone:  This  belonged 
to  an  animal  of  such  or  such  dimensions,  with  or 
without  horns,  carnivorous,  herbivorous,  amphibious, 
etc.,  age,  so  many  thousand  years.  Sure  now  of 
finding  in  d'Arthez  as  much  imagination  in  love  as 
there  was  in  his  written  style,  she  thought  it  wise  to 
bring  him  up  at  once  to  the  highest  pitch  of  passion 
and  belief. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  hastily,  with  a  magnificent 
movement  full  of  varied  emotions.  If  she  had  said 
in  words:  "  Stop,  or  I  shall  die,"  she  could  not  have 
spoken  more  plainly.  She  remained  for  a  moment  with 
her  eyes  in  d'Arthez 's  eyes,  expressing  in  that  one 
glance  happiness,  prudery,  fear,  confidence,  languor,  a 
vague  longing,  and  virgin  modesty.  She  was  twenty 
years  old!  but  remember,  she  had  prepared  for  this 
hour  of  comic  falsehood  by  the  choicest  art  of  dress ; 
she  was  there  in  her  armchair  like  a  flower,  ready  to 
blossom  at  the  first  kiss  of  sunshine.  True  or  false, 
she  intoxicated  Daniel. 

If  it  is  permissible  to  risk  a  personal  opinion  we 
must  avow  that  it  would  be  delightful  to  be  thus  de- 
ceived for  a  good  long  time.     Certainly  Talma  on  the 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Oadignan.      163 

stage  was  often  above  and  beyond  nature,  but  the 
Princesse  de  Cadignan  is  the  greatest  true  comedian 
of  our  day.  Nothing  was  wanting  to  this  woman  but 
an  attentive  audience.  Unfortunately,  at  epochs  per- 
turbed by  political  storms,  women  disappear  like  water- 
lilies  which  need  a  cloudless  sky  and  balmy  zephyrs 
to  spread  their  bloom  to  our  enraptured  eyes. 

The  hour  had  come;  Diane  was  now  to  entangle 
that  great  man  in  the  inextricable  meshes  of  a 
romance  carefully  prepared,  to  which  he  was  fated  to 
listen  as  the  neophyte  of  early  Christian  times  listened 
to  the  epistles  of  an  apostle. 

"  My  friend,"  began  Diane,  "  my  mother,  who  still 
lives  at  Uxelles,  married  me  in  1814,  when  I  was 
seventeen  years  old  (you  see  how  old  T  am  now!)  to 
Monsieur  de  Maufrigneuse,  not  out  of  affection  for 
me,  but  out  of  regard  for  him.  She  discharged  her 
debt  to  the  only  man  she  had  ever  loved,  for  the  hap- 
piness she  had  once  received  from  him.  Oh!  you 
need  not  be  astonished  at  so  horrible  a  conspiracy ;  it 
frequently  takes  place.  Many  women  are  more  lovers 
than  mothers,  though  the  majority  are  more  mothers 
than  wives.  The  two  sentiments,  love  and  mother- 
hood, developed  as  they  are  by  our  manners  and  cus- 
toms, often  struggle  together  in  the  hearts  of  women; 
one  or  other  must  succumb  when  they  are  not  of  equal 
strength;  when  they  are,  they    produce  some   excep- 


164     Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 

tional  women,  the  glory  of  our  sex.  A  man  of  your 
genius  must  surely  comprehend  many  things  that  be- 
wilder fools  but  are  none  the  less  true;  indeed  I  may 
go  further  and  call  them  justifiable  through  difference 
of  characters,  temperaments,  attachments,  situations. 
I,  for  example,  at  this  moment,  after  twenty  years  of 
misfortunes,  of  deceptions,  of  calumnies  endured,  and 
weary  days  and  hollow  pleasures,  is  it  not  natural  that  I 
should  incline  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  a  man  who  would  love 
me  sincerely  and  forever?  And  yet,  the  world  would 
condemn  me.  But  twenty  years  of  suffering  might 
well  excuse  a  few  brief  years  which  may  still  remain  to 
me  of  youth  given  to  a  sacred  and  real  love.  This  will 
not  happen.  I  am  not  so  rash  as  to  sacrifice  my  hopes 
of  heaven.  I  have  borne  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 
I  shall  finish  my  course  and  win  my  recompense." 

"Angel!"  thought  d'Arthez. 

"After  all,  I  have  never  blamed  my  mother;  she 
knew  little  of  me.  Mothers  who  lead  a  life  like  that 
of  the  Duchesse  d'Uxelles  keep  their  children  at  a 
distance..  I  saw  and  knew  nothing  of  the  world  until 
my  marriage.  You  can  judge  of  my  innocence!  I 
knew  nothing;  I  was  incapable  of  understanding  the 
causes  of  my  marriage.  I  had  a  fine  fortune;  sixty 
thousand  francs  a  year  in  forests,  which  the  Eevolu- 
tion  overlooked  (or  had  not  been  able  to  sell)  in  the 
Nivernais,  with  the  noble  chateau  of  d'Anzy.     Mon- 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      165 

sieur  cle  Maufrigneuse  was  steeped  in  debt.  Later  I 
learned  what  it  was  to  have  debts,  but  then  I  was  too 
utterly  ignorant  of  life  to  suspect  my  position;  the 
money  saved  out  of  my  fortune  went  to  pacify  my 
husband's  creditors.  Monsieur  de  Maufrigneuse  was 
forty-eight  years  of  age  when  I  married  him;  but 
those  years  were  like  military  campaigns,  they  ought 
to  count  for  twice  what  they  were.  Ah!  what  a  life 
I  led  for  ten  years !  If  any  one  had  known  the  suffer- 
ings of  this  poor,  calumniated  little  woman!  To 
be  watched  by  a  mother  jealous  of  her  daughter! 
Heavens!  You  who  make  dramas,  you  will  never 
invent  anything  as  direful  as  that.  Ordinarily, 
according  to  the  little  that  I  know  of  literature, 
a  drama  is  a  suite  of  actions,  speeches,  movements 
which  hurry  to  a  catastrophe;  but  what  I  speak  of 
was  a  catastrophe  in  action.  It  was  an  avalanche 
fallen  in  the  morning  and  falling  again  at  night 
only  to  fall  again  the  next  day.  I  am  cold  now  as  I 
speak  to  you  of  that  cavern  without  an  opening,  cold, 
sombre,  in  which  I  lived.  I,  poor  little  thing  that  I 
was!  brought  up  in  a  convent  like  a  mystic  rose, 
knowing  nothing  of  marriage,  developing  late,  I  was 
happy  at  first;  I  enjoyed  the  goodwill  and  harmony  of 
our  family.  The  birth  of  my  poor  boy,  who  is  all 
me  —  you  must  have  been  struck  by  the  likeness? 
my  hair,  my  eyes,  the  shape  of  my  face,  my  mouth, 


166       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

» 

my  smile,  my  teeth! — well,  his  birth  was  a  relief  to 
me;  my  thoughts  were  diverted  by  the  first  joys  of 
maternity  from  my  husband,  who  gave  me  no  pleasure 
and  did  nothing  for  me  that  was  kind  or  amiable; 
those  joys  were  all  the  keener  because  I  knew  no 
others.  It  had  been  so  often  rung  into  my  ears  that 
a  mother  should  respect  herself.  Besides,  a  young 
girl  loves  to  play  the  mother.  I  was  so  proud  of  my 
flower  —  for  Georges  was  beautiful,  a  miracle,  I 
thought!  I  saw  and  thought  of  nothing  but  my  son, 
I  lived  with  my  son.  I  never  let  his  nurse  dress  or 
undress  him.  Such  cares,  so  wearing  to  mothers  who 
have  a  regiment  of  children,  were  all  my  pleasure. 
But  after  three  or  four  years,  as  I  was  not  an  actual 
fool,  light  came  to  my  eyes  in  spite  of  the  pains 
taken  to  blindfold  me.  Can  you  see  me  at  that 
awakening,  in  1819?  The  drama  of  i  The  Brothers 
at  enmity  *  is  a  rose-water  tragedy  beside  that  of  a 
mother  and  daughter  placed  as  we  then  were.  But  I 
braved  them  all,  my  mother,  my  husband,  the  world, 
by  public  coquetries  which  society  talked  of,  —  and 
heaven  knows  how  it  talked !  You  can  see,  my  friend, 
how  the  men  with  whom  I  was  accused  of  folly  were 
to  me  the  dagger  with  which  to  stab  my  enemies. 
Thinking  only  of  my  vengeance,  I  did  not  see  or  feel 
the  wounds  I  was  inflicting  on  myself.  Innocent  as 
a  child,  I  was  thought  a  wicked  woman,  the  worst  of 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       167 

women,  and  I  knew  nothing  of  it!     The  world  is  very 
foolish,    very  blind,  very   ignorant;  it  can  penetrate 
no  secrets  but  those  which  amuse  it  and  serve  its 
malice:  noble  things,  great  things,   it  puts   its   hand 
before   its   eyes   to    avoid   seeing.      But,    as  I   look 
back,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  had  an  attitude  and  aspect 
of   indignant   innocence,    with   movements    of   pride, 
which  a  great  painter  would  have  recognized.     I  must 
have  enlivened  many  a  ball  with  my  tempests  of  anger 
and  disdain.     Lost   poesy!  such  sublime   poems  are 
only  made  in  the  glowing   indignation  which    seizes 
us  at  twenty.     Later,  we  are  wrathful  no  longer,  we 
are   too   weary,  vice   no   longer   amazes   us,   we   are 
cowards,   we   fear.     But   then  —  oh !    I  kept   a   great 
pace !     For  all  that  I  played  the  silliest  personage  in 
the  world ;  I  was  charged  with  crimes  by  which  I  never 
benefited.     But  I  had  such  pleasure  in  compromising 
myself.     That  was  my  revenge  !     Ah !  I  have  played 
many  childish  tricks !     I  went  to  Italy  with  a  thought- 
less youth,  whom  I  crushed  when  he  spoke  to  me  of 
love,  but  later,  when  I  heard  that  he  was  compromised 
on  my  account  (he  had  committed   a  forgery  to  get 
money)  I  rushed  to  save  him.     My  mother  and  hus- 
band kept  me  almost  without  means ;  but,  this  time, 
I  went  to  the  king.     Louis  XVIII. ,  that  man  with- 
out a   heart,  was   touched;    he   gave   me   a    hundred 
thousand  francs  from  his  privy  purse.     The  Marquis 


168        Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

d'Esgrignon —  you  must  have  seen  him  in  society  for 
he  ended  by  making  a  rich  marriage  —  was  saved  from 
the  abyss  into  which  he  had  plunged  for  my  sake. 
That  adventure,  caused  by  my  own  folly,  led  me  to 
reflect.  I  saw  that  I  myself  was  the  first  victim  of 
my  vengeance.  My  mother,  who  knew  I  was  too 
proud,  too  d'Uxelles,  to  conduct  myself  really  ill, 
began  to  see  the  harm  that  she  had  done  me  and  was 
frightened  by  it.  She  was  then  fifty-two  years  of 
age;  she  left  Paris  and  went  to  live  at  Uxelles. 
There  she  expiates  her  wrong-doing  by  a  life  of  devo- 
tion and  expresses  the  utmost  affection  for  me.  After 
her  departure  I  was  face  to  face,  alone,  with  Monsieur 
de  Maufrigneuse.  Oh!  my  friend,  you  men  can  never 
know  what  an  old  man  of  gallantry  can  be.  What  a 
home  is  that  of  a  man  accustomed  to  the  adulation  of 
women  of  the  world,  when  he  finds  neither  incense  nor 
censer  in  his  own  house !  dead  to  all !  and  yet,  per- 
haps for  that  very  reason,  jealous.  I  wished  —  when 
Monsieur  de  Maufrigneuse  was  wholly  mine  —  I 
wished  to  be  a  good  wife ,  but  I  found  myself  repulsed 
with  the  harshness  of  a  soured  spirit  by  a  man  who 
treated  me  like  a  child  and  took  pleasure  in  humil- 
iating my  self-respect  at  every  turn,  in  crushing  me 
under  the  scorn  of  his  experience,  and  in  convicting 
me  of  total  ignorance.  He  wounded  me  on  all  occa- 
sions.    He   did   everything  to   make   me   detest  him 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       169 

and  to  give  me  the  right  to  betray  him;  but  I  was 
still  the  dupe  of  my  own  hope  and  of  my  desire  to 
do  right  through  several  years.  Shall  I  tell  you  the 
cruel  saying  that  drove  me  to  further  follies  ?  *  The 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  has  gone  back  to  her  hus- 
band,'  said  the  world.  '  Bah!  it  is  always  a  triumph 
to  bring  the  dead  to  life;  it  is  all  she  can  now 
do,'  replied  my  best  friend,  a  relation,  she,  at  whose 
house  I  met  you  —  " 

"  Madame  d'Espard  !  "  cried  Daniel,  with  a  gesture 
of  horror. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  forgiven  her.  Besides,  it  was  very 
witty;  and  I  have  myself  made  just  as  cruel  epigrams 
on  other  poor  women  as  innocent  as  myself." 

D'Arthez  again  kissed  the  hand  of  that  saintly 
woman  who,  having  hacked  her  mother  in  pieces,  and 
turned  the  Prince  de  Cadignan  into  an  Othello,  now 
proceeded  to  accuse  herself  in  order  to  appear  in  the 
eyes  of  that  innocent  great  man  as  immaculate  as  the 
silliest  or  the  wisest  of  women  desire  to  seem  at  all 
costs  to  their  lovers. 

"  You  will  readily  understand,  my  friend,  that  I 
returned  to  society  for  the  purpose  of  excitement  and 
I  may  say  of  notoriet}7.  I  felt  that  I  must  conquer 
my  independence.  I  led  a  life  of  dissipation.  To 
divert  my  mind,  to  forget  my  real  life  in  fictitious 
enjoyments  I  was  gay,  I  shone,  I  gave  fetes,  I  played 


170       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

the  princess,  and  I  ran  in  debt.  At  home  I  could 
forget  myself  in  the  sleep  of  weariness,  able  to 
rise  the  next  day  gay,  and  frivolous  for  the  world ; 
but  in  that  sad  struggle  to  escape  my  real  life  I 
wasted  my  fortune.  The  revolution  of  1830  came; 
it  came  at  the  very  moment  when  I  had  met,  at  the 
end  of  that  Arabian  Nights'  life,  a  pure  and  sacred 
love  which  (I  desire  to  be  honest)  I  had  longed  to 
know.  Was  it  not  natural  in  a  woman  whose  heart, 
repressed  by  many  causes  and  accidents,  was  awaken- 
ing at  an  age  when  a  woman  feels  herself  cheated  if 
she  has  never  known,  like  the  women  she  sees  about 
her,  a  happy  love?  Ah!  why  was  Michel  Chrestien 
so  respectful?  Why  did  he  not  seek  to  meet  me? 
There  again  was  another  mockery!  But  what  of  that? 
in  falling,  I  have  lost  everything;  I  have  no  illusions 
left;  I  had  tasted  of  all  things  except  the  one  fruit  for 
which  I  have  no  longer  teeth.  Yes,  I  found  myself 
disenchanted  with  the  world  at  the  very  moment  when 
I  was  forced  to  leave  it.  Providential,  was  it  not? 
like  all  those  strange  insensibilities  which  prepare  us 
for  death  "  (she  made  a  gesture  full  of  pious  unction). 
"  All  things  served  me  then,"  she  continued;  "  the  dis- 
asters of  the  monarchy  and  its  ruin  helped  me  to  bury 
myself.  My  sou  consoles  me  for  much.  Maternal 
love  takes  the  place  of  all  frustrated  feelings.  The 
world  is   surprised    at   my   retirement,  but  to   me   it 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       171 

has  brought  peace.  Ah !  if  you  knew  how  happy  the 
poor  creature  before  you  is  in  this  little  place.  In 
sacrificing  all  to  my  son  I  forget  to  think  of  joys  of 
which  I  am  and  ever  must  be  ignorant.  Yes,  hope  has 
flown,  I  now  fear  everything ;  no  doubt  I  should  repulse 
the  truest  sentiment,  the  purest  and  most  veritable 
love,  in  memory  of  the  deceptions  and  the  miseries  of 
my  life.  It  is  all  horrible,  is  it  not?  and  yet,  what  I 
have  told  you  is  the  history  of  many  women." 

The  last  few  words  were  said  in  a  tone  of  easy 
pleasantry  which  recalled  the  presence  of  the  woman 
of  the  world.  D'Arthez  was  dumbfounded.  In  his 
eyes  convicts  sent  to  the  galleys  for  murder,  or  aggra- 
vated robbery,  or  for  putting  a  wrong  name  to  checks, 
were  saints  compared  to  the  men  and  women  of  society. 
This  atrocious  elegy,  forged  in  the  arsenal  of  lies,  and 
steeped  in  the  waters  of  the  Parisian  Styx,  had  been 
poured  into  his  ears  with  the  inimitable  accent  of 
truth.  The  grave  author  contemplated  for  a  moment 
that  adorable  woman  lying  back  in  her  easy-chair,  her 
two  hands  pendant  from  its  arms  like  dewdrops  from 
a  rose-leaf,  overcome  by  her  own  revelation,  living 
over  again  the  sorrows  of  her  life  as  she  told  them  — 
in  short  an  angel  of  melancholy. 

"  And  judge,"  she  cried,  suddenly  lifting  herself 
with  a  spring  and-  raising  her  hand,  while  lightning 
flashed  from  eyes  where  twenty  chaste  years  shone  — 


172       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan, 


a 


judge  of  the  impression  the  love  of  a  man  like  Michel 
must  have  made  upon  me.  But  by  some  irony  of 
fate  —  or  was  it  the  hand  of  God?  —  well,  he  died; 
died  in  saving  the  life  of,  whom  do  you  suppose? 
of  Monsieur  de  Cadignan.  Are  you  now  surprised  to 
find  me  thoughtful  ?  " 

This  was  the  last  drop;  poor  d'Arthez  could  bear 
no  more.  He  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  laid  his  head 
on  Diane's  hand,  weeping  soft  tears  such  as  the  angels 
shed,  —  if  angels  weep.  As  Daniel  was  in  that  bent 
posture,  Madame  de  Cadignan  could  safely  let  a 
malicious  smile  of  triumph  flicker  on  her  lips,  a 
smile  such  as  the  monkeys  wear  after  playing  a  sly 
trick  —  if  monkeys  smile. 

"  Ah!  I  have  him,"  thought  she;  and,  indeed,  she 
had  him  fast. 

"  But  you  are  —  "  he  said,  raising  his  fine  head  and 
looking  at  her  with  eyes  of  love. 

"  Virgin  and  martyr,"  she  replied,  smiling  at  the 
commonness  of  that  hackneyed  expression,  but  giv- 
ing it  a  freshness  of  meaning  by  her  smile,  so  full  of 
painful  gayety.  "  If  I  laugh,"  she  continued,  "  it  is 
that  I  am  thinking  of  that  princess  whom  the  world 
thinks  it  knows,  that  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  to 
whom  it  gives  as  lovers  de  Marsay,  that  infamous  de 
Trailles  (a  political  cutthroat),  and  that  little  fool  of 
a  d'Esgrignon,  and  Bastignac,  Rubempre,   ambassa- 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       173 

dors,  ministers,  Russian  generals,  heaven  knows  who! 
all  Europe!  They  have  gossiped  about  that  album 
which  I  ordered  made,  believing  that  those  who  ad- 
mired me  were  my  friends.  Ah  !  it  is  frightful !  I 
wonder  that  I  allow  a  man  at  my  feet !  Despise  them 
all,  that  should  be  my  religion." 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window  with  a  gait  and 
bearing  magnificent  in  motifs. 

D'Arthez  remained  on  the  low  seat  to  which  he  had 
returned  not  daring  to  follow  the  princess;  but  he 
looked  at  her ;  he  heard  her  blowing  her  nose.  Was 
there  ever  a  princess  who  blew  her  nose?  but  Diane 
attempted  the  impossible  to  convey  an  idea  of  her 
sensibility.  D'Arthez  believed  his  angel  was  in 
tears ;  he  rushed  to  her  side,  took  her  round  the  waist, 
and  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 

"No,  no,  leave  me  ! "  she  murmured  in  a  feeble 
voice.  "I  have  too  many  doubts  to  be  good  for  any- 
thing. To  reconcile  me  with  life  is  a  task  beyond 
the  powers  of  any  man." 

"Diane !  I  will  love  you  for  your  whole  lost  life." 

"No;  don't  speak  to  me  thus,"  she  answered.  "At 
this  moment  I  tremble,  I  am  ashamed  as  though  I  had 
committed  the  greatest  sins." 

She  was  now  entirely  restored  to  the  innocence  of 
little  girls,  and  yet  her  bearing  was  august,  grand, 
noble  as  that  of  a  queen.  It  is  impossible  to  describe 
the    effect  of   these  manoauvres,   so  clever  that  they 


174       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

acted  like  the  purest  truth  on  a  soul  as  fresh  and 
honest  as  that  of  d'Arthez/  The  great  author  re- 
mained dumb  with  admiration,  passive  beside  her  in 
the  recess  of  that  window  awaiting  a  word,  while  the 
princess  awaited  a  kiss;  but  she  was  far  too  sacred  to 
him  for  that.  Feeling  cold,  the  princess  returned  to 
her  easy-chair;  her  feet  were  frozen. 

"It  will  take  a  long  time,"  she  said  to  herself, 
looking  at  Daniel's  noble  brow  and  head. 

"Is  this  a  woman?"  thought  that  profound  observer 
of  human  nature.     "How  ought  I  to  treat  her?  " 

Until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  spent  their 
time  in  saying  to  each  other  the  silly  things  that 
women  of  genius,  like  the  princess,  know  how  to  make 
adorable.  Diane  pretended  to  be  too  worn,  too  old, 
too  faded;  D'Arthez  proved  to  her  (facts  of  which 
she  was  well  convinced)  that  her  skin  was  the  most 
delicate,  the  softest  to  the  touch,  the  whitest  to  the 
eye,  the  most  fragrant;  she  was  young  and  in  her 
bloom,  how  could  she  think  otherwise?  Thus  they 
disputed,  beauty  by  beauty,  detail  by  detail  with 
many:  "Oh!  do  you  think  so?  "  —  "You  are 
beside  yourself!"  —  "It  is  hope,  it  is  fancy!"  — 
"You  will  soon  see  me  as  I  am.  — I  am  almost  forty 
years  of  age.     Can  a  man  love  so  old  a  woman?" 

D'Arthez  responded  with  impetuous  and  school-boy 
eloquence,  larded  with  exaggerated  epithets.  When 
the  princess  heard  this  wise  and  witty  writer  talking 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       175 

the  nonsense  of  an  amorous  sub-lieutenant  she  listened 
with  an  absorbed  air  and  much  sensibility;  but  she 
laughed  in  her  sleeve. 

When  d'Arthez  was  in  the  street,  he  asked  himself 
whether  he  might  not  have  been  rather  less  respectful. 
He  went  over  in  memory  those  strange  confidences  — 
which  have,  naturally,  been  much  abridged  here,  for 
they  needed  a  volume  to  convey  their  mellifluous  abun- 
dance and  the  graces  which  accompanied  them.  The 
retrospective  perspicacity  of  this  man,  so  natural,  so 
profound,  was  baffled  by  the  candor  of  that  tale  and 
its  poignancy,  and  by  the  tones  of  the  princess. 

"It  is  true,"  he  said  to  himself,  being  unable  to 
sleep,  "there  are  such  dramas  as  that  in  society. 
Society  covers  great  horrors  with  the  flowers  of  its 
elegance,  the  embroidery  of  its  gossip,  the  wit  of  its 
lies.  We  writers  invent  no  more  than  the  truth. 
Poor  Diane  !  Michel  had  penetrated  that  enigma;  he 
said  that  beneath  her  covering  of  ice  there  lay  vol- 
canoes !  Bianchon  and  Rastignac  were  right ;  when  a 
man  can  join  the  grandeurs  of  the  ideal  and  the 
enjoyments  of  human  passion  in  loving  a  woman  of 
perfect  manners,  of  intellect,  of  delicacy,  it  must  be 
happiness  beyond  words." 

So  thinking,  he  sounded  the  love  that  was  in  him 
and  found  it  infinite. 


176     Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de   Cadignan. 


V. 

A    TRIAL    OF    FAITH. 

The  next  day,  about  two  in  the  afternoon,  Madame 
d'Espard,  who  had  seen  and  heard  nothing  of  the 
princess  for  more  than  a  month,  went  to  see  her  under 
the  impulse  of  extreme  curiosity.  Nothing  was  ever 
more  amusing  of  its  kind  than  the  conversation  of 
these  two  crafty  adders  during  the  first  half -hour  of 
this  visit. 

Diane  d'Uxelles  cautiously  avoided,  as  she  would 
the  wearing  of  a  yellow  gown,  all  mention  of  d' Arthez. 
The  marquise  circled  round  and  round  that  topic  like 
a  Bedouin  round  a  caravan.  Diane  amused  herself; 
the  marquise  fumed.  Diane  waited ;  she  intended  to 
utilize  her  friend  and  use  her  in  the  chase.  Of  these 
two  women,  both  so  celebrated  in  the  social  world, 
one  was  far  stronger  than  the  other.  The  princess 
rose  by  a  head  above  the  marquise,  and  the  marquise 
was  inwardly  conscious  of  that  superiority.  In  this, 
perhaps,  lay  the  secret  of  their  intimacy.  The  weaker 
of  the  two  crouched  low  in  her  false  attachment, 
watching  for  the  hour,  long  awaited  by  feeble  beings, 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       177 

of  springing  at  the  throat  of  the  stronger  and  leaving 
the  mark  of  a  joyful  bite.  Diane  saw  clear;  but  the 
world  was  the  dupe  of  the  wily  caresses  of  the  two 
friends. 

The  instant  that  the  princess  perceived  a  direct 
question  on  the  lips  of  her  friend,  she  said :  — 

"Ah !  dearest,  I  owe  you  a  most  complete,  immense, 
infinite,  celestial  happiness." 
"What  can  you  mean?  " 

"Have  you  forgotten  what  we  ruminated  three 
months  ago  in  the  little  garden,  sitting  on  a  bench  in 
the  sun,  under  the  jasmine?  Ah!  there  are  none  but 
men  of  genius  who  know  how  to  love !  I  apply  to  my 
grand  Daniel  d'Arthez  the  Duke  of  Alba's  saying  to 
Catherine  de'  Medici:  '  The  head  of  a  single  salmon  is 
worth  all  the  frogs  in  the  world. '  " 

"I  am  not  surprised  that  I  no  longer  see  you,"  said 
Madame  d'Espard. 

"Promise  me,  if  you  meet  him,  not  to  say  to  him  one 
word  about  me,  my  angel,"  said  the  princess,  taking 
her  friend's  hand.  "I  am  happy,  oh!  happy  beyond 
all  expression ;  but  you  know  that  in  society  a  word, 
a  mere  jest  can  do  such  harm.  One  speech  can  kill, 
for  they  put  such  venom  into  a  single  sentence  !  Ah ! 
if  you  knew  how  I  long  that  you  might  meet  with  a 
love  like  this  !  Yes,  it  is  a  sweet,  a  precious  triumph 
for  women  like  ourselves  to  end  our  woman's  life  in 

12 


178       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

this  way;  to  rest  in  an  ardent,  pure,  devoted,  com- 
plete and  absolute  love;  above  all,  when  we  have 
sought  it  long." 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  to  be  faithful  to  my  dearest 
friend?"  said  Madame  d'Espard.  "Do  you  think  me 
capable  of  playiug  you  some  villanous  trick  ?  " 

"When  a  woman  possesses  such  a  treasure  the  fear 
of  losing  it  is  so  strong  that  it  naturally  inspires  a 
feeling  of  terror.  I  am  absurd,  I  know ;  forgive  me, 
dear." 

A  few  moments  later  the  marquise  departed;  as 
she  watched  her  go  the  princess  said  to  herself :  — 

"How  she  will  pluck  me  !  But  to  save  her  the 
trouble  of  trying  to  get  Daniel  away  from  here  I  '11 
send  him  to  her." 

At  three  o'clock,  or  a  few  moments  after,  d'Arthez 
arrived.  In  the  midst  of  some  interesting  topic  on 
which  he  was  discoursing  eloquently,  the  princess 
suddenly  cut  him  short  by  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,"  she  said,  interrupt- 
ing him,  "but  I  fear  I  may  forget  a  thing  which  seems 
a  mere  trifle  but  may  be  of  great  importance.  You 
have  not  set  foot  in  Madame  d'Espard's  salon  since 
the  ever-blessed  day  when  I  met  you  there.  Pray  go 
at  once ;  not  for  your  sake,  nor  by  way  of  politeness, 
but  for  me.    You  may  already  have  made  her  an  enemy 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.      179 

of  mine,  if  by  chance  she  has  discovered  that  since 
her  dinner  you  have  scarcely  left  my  house.  Besides, 
my  friend,  I  don't  like  to  see  you  dropping  your  con- 
nection with  society,  and  neglecting  your  occupations 
and  your  work.  I  should  again  be  strangely  calum- 
niated. What  would  the  world  say  ?  That  I  held  you 
in  leading-strings,  absorbed  you,  feared  comparisons, 
and  clung  to  my  conquest  knowing  it  to  be  my  last ! 
Who  will  know  that  you  are  my  friend,  my  only  friend  ? 
If  you  love  me  indeed,  as  you  say  you  love  me,  you 
will  make  the  world  believe  that  we  are  purely  and 
simply  brother  and  sister  —  Go  on  with  what  you 
were  saying." 

In  his  armor  of  tenderness,  riveted  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  so  many  splendid  virtues,  d'Arthez  obeyed 
this  behest  on  the  following  day  and  went  to  see 
Madame  d'Espard,  who  received  him  with  charming 
coquetry.  The  marquise  took  very  good  care  not  to 
say  a  single  word  to  him  about  the  princess,  but  she 
asked  him  to  dinner  on  a  coming  day. 

On  this  occasion  D'Arthez  found  a  numerous  com- 
pany. The  marquise  had  invited  Rastignac,  Blondet, 
the  Marquis  d'Ajuda-Pinto,  Maxime  de  Trailles,  the 
Marquis  d'Esgrignon,  the  two  brothers  Vandenesse, 
du  Tillet,  one  of  the  richest  bankers  in  Paris,  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen,  Raoul  Nathan,  Lady  Dudley,  two  very 
treacherous  secretaries  of  embassies  and  the  Chevalier 


180       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

d'Espard,  the  wiliest  personage   in   this  assemblage 
and  the  chief  instigator  of  his  sister-in-law's  policy. 

When  dinner  was  well  under  way,  Maxime  de  Trailles 
turned  to  d'Arthez  and  said  smiling:  — 

"You  see  a  great  deal,  don't  you,  of  the  Princesse 
de  Cadignan?" 

To  this  question  d'Arthez  responded  by  curtly  nod- 
ding his  head.  Maxime  de  Trailles  was  a  bravo  of 
the  social  order,  without  faith  or  law,  capable  of 
everything,  ruining  the  women  who  trusted  him,  com- 
pelling them  to  pawn  their  diamonds  to  give  him 
money,  but  covering  this  conduct  with  a  brilliant  var- 
nish; a  man  of  charming  manners  and  satanic  mind. 
He  inspired  all  who  knew  him  with  equal  contempt 
and  fear;  but  as  no  one  was  bold  enough  to  show  him 
any  sentiments  but  those  of  the  utmost  courtesy  he 
saw  nothing  of  this  public  opinion,  or  else  he  accepted 
and  shared  the  general  dissimulation.  He  owed  to 
the  Comte  de  Marsay  the  greatest  degree  of  elevation 
to  which  he  could  attain.  De  Marsay,  whose  knowl- 
edge  of  Maxime  was  of  long-standing,  judged  him 
capable  of  fulfilling  certain  secret  and  diplomatic 
functions  which  he  confided  to  him  aud  of  which 
de  Trailles  acquitted  himself  admirably.  D'Arthez 
had  for  some  time  past  mingled  sufficiently  in  politi- 
cal matters  to  know  the  man  for  what  he  was,  and  he 
alone  had  sufficient  strength  and  height  of  character 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       181 

to  express  aloud  what  others  thought  or  said  iu  a 
whisper. 

"Is  it  for  her  that  you  neglect  the  Chamber?  "  asked 
Baron  de  Nucingen  in  his  German  accent. 

"Ah  !  the  princess  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
women  a  man  can  have  anything  to  do  with.  I  owe 
to  her  the  miseries  of  my  marriage,"  exclaimed  the 
Marquis  d'Esgrignon. 

''Dangerous? "  said  Madame  d'Espard.  "Don't 
speak  so  of  my  nearest  friend.  I  have  never  seen  or 
known  anything  in  the  princess  that  did  not  seem  to 
come  from  the  noblest  sentiments." 

"Let  the  marquis  say  what  he  thinks,"  cried  Ras- 
tignac.  "When  a  man  has  been  thrown  by  a  fine 
horse  he  thinks  it  has  vices  and  he  sells  it." 

Piqued  by  these  words,  the  Marquis  d'Esgrignon 
looked  at  d' Arthez  and  said :  — 

"Monsieur  is  not,  I  trust,  on  such  terms  with  the 
princess  that  we  cannot  speak  freely  of  her  ?  " 

D'Arthez  kept  silence.  D'Esgrignon,  who  was  not 
wanting  in  cleverness,  replied  to  Rastignac's  speech 
with  an  apologetic  portrait  of  the  princess,  which 
put  the  whole  table  in  good  humor.  As  the  jest  was 
extremely  obscure  to  d 'Arthez  he  leaned  toward  his 
neighbor,  Madame  de  Montcornet,  and  asked  her,  in  a 
whisper,  what  it  meant. 

"Excepting    yourself  —  judging   by    the    excellent 


182       Secrets  of  the  Prineesse  de  Cadignan. 

opinion  you  seem  to  have  of  the  princess  —  all  the 
other  guests  are  said  to  have  been  in  her  good  graces." 

"I  can  assure  you  that  such  an  accusation  is  abso- 
lutely false,"  said  Daniel. 

"And  yet,  here  is  Monsieur  d'Esgrignon  of  an  old 
family  of  Alen^on,  who  completely  ruined  himself  for 
her  some  twelve  years  ago,  and,  if  all  is  true,  came 
very  near  going  to  the  scaffold." 

"I  know  the  particulars  of  that  affair,"  said  d'Arthez. 
"Madame  de  Cadignan  went  to  AlenQon  to  save  Mon- 
sieur d'Esgrignon  from  a  trial  before  the  court  of 
assizes;  and  this  is  how  he  rewards  her  to-day!" 

Madame  de  Montcornet  looked  at  d'Arthez  with  a 
surprise  and  curiosity  that  were  almost  stupid,  then 
she  turned  her  eyes  on  Madame  d'Espard  with  a  look 
which  seemed  to  say:  "He  is  bewitched  !  " 

During  this  short  conversation  Madame  de  Cadignan 
was  protected  by  Madame  d'Espard,  whose  protection 
was  like  that  of  the  lightning-rod  which  draws  the 
flash.  When  d'Arthez  returned  to  the  general  con- 
versation Maxime  de  Trailles  was  saying :  — 

"With  Diane,  depravity  is  not  an  effect  but  a 
cause;  perhaps  she  owes  that  cause  to  her  exquisite 
nature ;  she  does  n't  invent,  she  makes  no  effort, 
she  offers  you  the  choicest  refinements  as  the  inspira- 
tion of  a  spontaneous  and  naive  love ;  and  it  is  abso- 
lutely impossible  not  to  believe  her." 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       183 

This  speech,  which  seemed  to  have  been  prepared 
for  a  man  of  d'Arthez 's  stamp,  was  so  tremendous  an 
arraignment  that  the  company  appeared  to  accept  it  as 
a  conclusion.  No  one  said  more;  the  princess  was 
crushed.  D'Arthez  looked  straight  at  de  Trailles  and 
then  at  d'Esgrignon  with  a  sarcastic  air,  and  said:  — 

"The  greatest  fault  of  that  woman  is  that  she  has 
followed  in  the  wake  of  men.  She  squanders  patri- 
monies as  they  do ;  she  drives  her  lovers  to  usurers ; 
she  pockets  dots ;  she  ruins  orphans ;  she  inspires, 
possibly  she  commits,  crimes,  but  —  " 

Never  had  the  two  men,  whom  d'Arthez  was  chiefly 
addressing,  listened  to  such  plain  talk.  At  that  but 
the  whole  table  was  startled,  every  one  paused,  fork 
in  air,  their  eyes  fixed  alternately  on  the  brave  author 
and  on  the  assailants  of  the  princess,  awaiting  the 
conclusion  of  that  horrible  silence. 

"But"  said  d'Arthez,  with  sarcastic  airiness, 
"Madame  la  Princesse  de  Cadignan  has  one  advan- 
tage over  men:  when  they  have  put  themselves  in 
danger  for  her  sake,  she  saves  them,  and  says  no  harm 
of  any  one.  Among  the  multitude,  why  should  n't 
there  be  one  woman  who  amuses  herself  with  men  as 
men  amuse  themselves  with  women?  Why  not  allow 
the  fair  sex  to  take,  from  time  to  time,  its  revenge?" 

"Genius  is  stronger  than  wit,"  said  Blondet  to 
Nathan. 


184        Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

This  broadside  of  sarcasms  was  in  fact  the  dis- 
charge of  a  battery  of  cannon  against  a  platoon  of 
musketry.  When  coffee  was  served,  Blondet  and 
Nathan  went  up  to  d'Arthez  with  an  eagerness  no  one 
else  dared  to  imitate,  so  unable  were  the  rest  of  the 
company  to  show  the  admiration  his  conduct  inspired 
from  the  fear  of  making  two  powerful  enemies. 

"This  is  not  the  first  time  we  have  seen  that  your 
character  equals  your  talent  in  grandeur,"  said  Blondet. 
"You  behaved  just  now  more  like  a  demi-god  than  a 
man.  Not  to  have  been  carried  away  by  your  heart 
or  your  imagination,  not  to  have  taken  up  the  defence 
of  a  beloved  woman  —  a  fault  they  were  enticing  you 
to  commit,  because  it  would  have  given  those  men  of 
society  eaten  up  with  jealousy  of  your  literary  fame 
a  triumph  over  you  —  ah !  give  me  leave  to  say  you 
have  attained  the  height  of  private  statesmanship." 

"Yes,  you  are  a  statesman,"  said  Nathan.  "It  is 
as  clever  as  it  is  difficult  to  avenge  a  woman  without 
defending  her." 

"The  princess  is  one  of  the  heroines  of  the  legit- 
imist party,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  all  men  of  honor  to 
protect  her  quand  meme"  replied  d'Arthez,  coldly. 
"What  she  has  done  for  the  cause  of  her  masters 
would  excuse  all  follies." 

"  He  keeps  his  own  counsel ! "  said  Nathan  to 
Blondet. 


Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan.       185 


a- 


;  Precisely  as  if  the  princess  were  worth  it,"  said 
Rastignac,  joining  the  other  two. 

D'Arthez  went  to  the  princess,  who  was  awaiting 
him  with  the  keenest  anxiety.  The  result  of  this 
experiment,  which  Diane  had  herself  brought  about, 
misjht  be  fatal  to  her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
this  woman  suffered  in  her  heart.  She  knew  not  what 
she  should  do  in  case  d'Arthez  believed  the  world 
which  spoke  the  truth,  instead  of  believing  her  who 
lied ;  for  never  had  so  noble  a  nature,  so  complete  a 
man,  a  soul  so  pure,  a  conscience  so  ingenuous  come 
beneath  her  hand.  Though  she  had  told  him  cruel 
lies  she  was  driven  to  do  so  by  the  desire  of  knowing 
a  true  love.  That  love  —  she  felt  it  dawning  in  her 
heart ;  yes,  she  loved  d'Arthez ;  and  now  she  was  con- 
demned forever  to  deceive  him !  She  must  henceforth 
remain  to  him  the  actress  who  had  played  that  comedy 
to  blind  his  eyes. 

When  she  heard  Daniel's  step  in  the  dining-room  a 
violent  commotion,  a  shudder  which  reached  to  her 
very  vitals  came  over  her.  That  convulsion,  never 
felt  during  all  the  years  of  her  adventurous  existence, 
told  her  that  she  had  staked  her  happiness  on  this 
issue.  Her  eyes,  gazing  into  space,  took  in  the  whole 
of  d'Arthez's  person;  their  light  poured  through  his 
flesh,  she  read  his  soul ;  suspicion  had  not  so  much  as 
touched  him  with  its  bat's- wing.     The  terrible  emo- 


186       Secrets  of  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

tion  of  that  fear  then  came  to  its  reaction ;  joy  almost 
stifled  her;  for  there  is  no  human  being  who  is  not 
more  able  to  endure  grief  than  to  bear  extreme  felicity. 

"Daniel,  they  have  calumniated  me,  and  you  have 
avenged  me ! "  she  cried,  rising,  and  opening  her  arms 
to  him. 

In  the  profound  amazement  caused  by  these  words, 
the  roots  of  which  were  utterly  unknown  to  him,  Daniel 
allowed  his  head  to  be  taken  between  her  beautiful 
hands,  as  the  princess  kissed  him  sacredly  on  the 
forehead. 

"But,"  he  said,  "how  could  you  know —  " 

uOh!  illustrious  ninny!  do  you  not  see  that  I  love 
you  fondly  ?  " 

Since  that  day  nothing  has  been  said  of  the  Prin- 
cesse de  Cadignan,  nor  of  d'Arthez.  The  princess 
has  inherited  some  fortune  from  her  mother  and  she 
spends  all  her  summers  in  a  villa  on  the  lake  of 
Geneva,  where  the  great  writer  joins  her.  She  returns 
to  Paris  for  a  few  months  in  winter.  D'Arthez  is 
never  seen  except  in  the  Chamber.  His  writings  are 
becoming  exceedingly  rare.  Is  this  a  conclusion? 
Yes,  for  people  of  sense;  no,  for  persons  who  want 
to  know  everything. 


UNCONSCIOUS   COMEDIANS. 


UNCONSCIOUS    COMEDIANS. 


To  Monsieur  le  Comte  Jules  de  Castellane. 


1. 

Leon  de  Lora,  our  celebrated  landscape  painter, 
belongs  to  one  of  the  noblest  families  of  the  Roussillon 
(Spanish  originally)  which,  although  distinguished 
for  the  antiquity  of  its  race,  has  been  doomed  for  a 
century  to  the  proverbial  poverty  of  hidalgos.  Com- 
ing, light-footed,  to  Paris  from  the  department  of  the 
Eastern  Pyrenees,  with  the  sum  of  eleven  francs  in 
his  pocket  for  all  viaticum,  he  had  in  some  degree 
forgotten  the  miseries  and  privations  of  his  childhood 
and  his  family  amid  the  other  privations  and  miseries 
which  are  never  lacking  to  rapins,  whose  whole  for- 
tune consists  of  intrepid  vocation.  Later,  the  cares 
of  fame  and  those  of  success  were  other  causes  of 
forgetfulness. 


190  Unconscious  Comedians. 

If  you  have  followed  the  capricious  and  meandering 
course  of  these  studies,  perhaps  you  will  remember 
Mistigris,  Schinner's  pupil,  one  of  the  heroes  of  "A 
Start  in  Life "  {Scenes  from  Private  Life),  and  his 
brief  apparitions  in  other  Scenes.  In  1845,  this  land- 
scape painter,  emulator  of  the  Hobbemas,  Ruysdaels, 
and  Lorraines,  resembles  no  longer  the  shabby,  frisky 
rapin  whom  we  then  knew.  Now  an  illustrious  man, 
he  owns  a  charming  house  in  the  rue  de  Berlin,  not 
far  from  the  hotel  de  Brambourg,  where  his  friend 
Brideau  lives,  and  quite  close  to  the  house  of  Schinner, 
his  early  master.  He  is  a  member  of  the  Institute 
and  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  honor;  he  is  thirty- 
six  years  old,  has  an  income  of  twenty  thousand 
francs  from  the  Funds,  his  pictures  sell  for  their 
weight  in  gold,  and  (what  seems  to  him  more  ex- 
traordinary than  the  invitations  he  receives  occa- 
sionally to  court  balls)  his  name  and  fame,  mentioned 
so  often  for  the  last  sixteen  years  by  the  press  of 
Europe,  has  at  last  penetrated  to  the  valley  of  the 
Eastern  Pyrenees,  where  vegetate  three  veritable 
Loras :  his  father,  his  eldest  brother,  and  an  old  pater- 
nal aunt.  Mademoiselle  Urraca  y  Lora. 

In  the  maternal  line  the  painter  has  no  relation  left 
except  a  cousin,  the  nephew  of  his  mother,  residing  in 
a  small  manufacturing  town  in  the  department.  This 
cousin  was  the  first  to  bethink  himself  of  Leon.     But 


Unconscious  Comedians.  191 

it  was  not  till  1840  that  Leon  de  Lora  received  a  let- 
ter from  Monsieur  Sylvestre  Palafox-Castel-Gazonal 
(called  simply  Gazonal)  to  which  he  replied  that  he 
was  assuredly  himself,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  son  of  the 
late  Leonie  Gazonal,  wife  of  Comte  Fernand  Didas 
y  Lora. 

During  the  summer  of  1841  cousin  Sjdvestre  Gazonal 
went  to  inform  the  illustrious  unknown  family  of  Lora 
that  their  little  Leon  had  not  gone  to  the  Rio  de  la 
Plata,  as  they  supposed,  but  was  now  one  of  the 
greatest  geniuses  of  the  French  school  of  painting ;  a 
fact  the  family  did  not  believe.  The  eldest  son,  Don 
Juan  de  Lora  assured  his  cousin  Gazonal  that  he  was 
certainly  the  dupe  of  some  Parisian  wag. 

Now  the  said  Gazonal  was  intending  to  go  to  Paris 
to  prosecute  a  lawsuit  which  the  prefect  of  the  Eastern 
Pyrenees  had  arbitrarily  removed  from  the  usual  juris- 
diction, transferring  it  to  that  of  the  Council  of  State. 
The  worthy  provincial  determined  to  investigate  this 
act,  and  to  ask  his  Parisian  cousin  the  reason  of  such 
high-handed  measures.  It  thus  happened  that  Mon- 
sieur Gazonal  came  to  Paris,  took  shabby  lodgings 
in  the  rue  Croix-des-Petits-Champs,  and  was  amazed 
to  see  the  palace  of  his  cousin  in  the  rue  de  Berlin. 
Being  told  that  the  painter  was  then  travelling  in 
Italy,  he  renounced,  for  the  time  being,  the  intention 
of  asking  his  advice,  and  doubted  if  he  should  ever 


192  Unconscious  Comedians. 

find   his   maternal   relationship  acknowledged   by   so 
great  a  man. 

During  the  years  1843  and  1844  Gazonal  attended 
to  his  lawsuit.  This  suit  concerned  a  question  as  to 
the  current  and  level  of  a  stream  of  water  and  the 
necessity  of  removing  a  dam,  in  which  dispute  the 
administration,  instigated  by  the  abutters  on  the  river 
banks,  had  meddled.  The  removal  of  the  dam  threat- 
ened the  existence  of  Gazonal' s  manufactory.  In 
1845,  Gazonal  considered  his  cause  as  wholly  lost; 
the  secretary  of  the  Master  of  Petitions,  charged  with 
the  duty  of  drawing  up  the  report,  had  confided  to 
him  that  the  said  report  would  assuredly  be  against 
him,  and  his  own  lawyer  confirmed  the  statement. 
Gazonal,  though  commander  of  the  National  Guard  in 
his  own  town  and  one  of  the  most  capable  manufac- 
turers of  the  department,  found  himself  of  so  little 
account  in  Paris,  and  he  was,  moreover,  so  frightened 
by  the  costs  of  living  and  the  dearness  of  even  the 
most  trifling  things,  that  he  kept  himself,  all  this  time, 
secluded  in  his  shabby  lodgings.  The  Southerner, 
deprived  of  his  sun,  execrated  Paris,  which  he  called 
a  manufactory  of  rheumatism.  As  he  added  up  the 
costs  of  his  suit  and  his  living,  he  vowed  within  him- 
self to  poison  the  prefect  on  his  return,  or  to  minotau- 
rize  him.  In  his  moments  of  deepest  sadness  he 
killed  the  prefect  outright;  in  gayer  mood  he  con- 
tented himself  with  minotaurizing  him. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  193 

One  morning,  as  he  ate  his  breakfast  and  cursed 
his  fate,  he  picked  up  a  newspaper  savagely.  The 
following  lines,  ending  an  article,  struck  Gazonal 
as  if  the  mysterious  voice  which  speaks  to  gamblers 
before  they  win  had  sounded  in  his  ear:  "Our  cele- 
brated landscape  painter,  Leon  de  Lora,  lately  re- 
turned from  Italy,  will  exhibit  several  pictures  at  the 
Salon;  thus  the  exhibition  promises,  as  we  see,  to  be 
most  brilliant."  With  the  suddenness  of  action  that 
distinguishes  the  sons  of  the  sunny  South,  Gazonal 
sprang  from  his  lodgings  to  the  street,  from  the  street 
to  a  street-cab,  and  drove  to  the  rue  de  Berlin  to  find 
his  cousin. 

Leon  de  Lora  sent  word  by  a  servant  to  his  cousin 
Gazonal  that  he  invited  him  to  breakfast  the  next 
day  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  but  he  was  now  engaged  in 
a  manner  which  did  not  allow  him  to  receive  his 
cousin  at  the  present  moment.  Gazonal,  like  a  true 
Southerner,  recounted  all  his  troubles  to  the  valet. 

The  next  day  at  ten  o'clock,  Gazonal,  much  too 
well-dressed  for  the  occasion  (he  had  put  on  his  bottle- 
blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  a  frilled  shirt,  a  wrhite 
waistcoat  and  }Tellow  gloves),  awaited  his  amphitiyon 
a  full  hour,  stamping  his  feet  on  the  boulevard,  after 
hearing  from  the  master  of  the  cafe  that  "these  gentle- 
men "  breakfasted  habitually  between  eleven  and  twelve 
o'clock. 

13 


194  Unconscious  Comedians. 

"Between  eleven  and  half-past,"  he  said  when  he 
related  his  adventures  to  his  cronies  in  the  provinces, 
"two  Parisians  in  simple  frock-coats,  looking  like 
nothing  at  all,  called  out  when  they  saw  me  on  the 
boulevard,   '  There  's  our  Gazonal! '  " 

The  speaker  was  Bixiou,  with  whom  Leon  de  Lora 
had  armed  himself  to  "bring  out"  his  provincial 
cousin,  in  other  words,  to  make  him  pose. 

"  '  Don't  be  vexed,  cousin,  I  'in  at  your  service!  ' 
cried  out  that  little  Leon,  taking  me  in  his  arms," 
related  Gazonal  on  his  return  home.  "The  break- 
fast was  splendid.  I  thought  I  was  going  blind  when 
I  saw  the  number  of  bits  of  gold  it  took  to  pay  that 
bill.  Those  fellows  must  earn  their  weight  in  gold, 
for  I  saw  my  cousin  give  the  waiter  thirty  sous  —  the 
price  of  a  whole  day's  work!  " 

During  this  monstrous  breakfast — advisedly  so 
called  in  view  of  six  dozen  Ostend  oysters,  six  cutlets 
a  la  Soubise,  a  chicken  a  la  Marengo,  lobster  mayon- 
naise, green  peas,  a  mushroom  pasty,  washed  down 
with  three  bottles  of  Bordeaux,  three  bottles  of  Cham- 
pagne, plus  coffee  and  liqueurs,  to  say  nothing  of 
relishes  —  Gazonal  was  magnificent  in  his  diatribes 
against  Paris.  The  worthy  manufacturer  complained 
of  the  length  of  the  four-pound  bread-loaves,  the 
height  of  the  houses,  the  indifference  of  the  passen- 
gers in  the  streets  to  one  another,  the  cold,  the  rain, 


Unconscious  Comedians :  195 

the  cost  of  hackney-coaches,  all  of  which  and  much 
else  he  bemoaned  in  so  witty  a  manner  that  the  two 
artists  took  a  mighty  fancy  to  cousin  Gazonal,  and 
made  him  relate  his  lawsuit  from  beginning  to  end. 

"My  lawsuit,"  he  said  in  his  Southern  accent  and 
rolling  his  r's,  "  is  a  very  simple  thing;  they  want  my 
manufactory.  I  've  employed  here  in  Paris  a  dolt  of 
a  lawyer,  to  whom  I  give  twenty  francs  every  time  he 
opens  an  eye,  and  he  is  always  asleep.  He  's  a  slug, 
who  drives  in  his  coach,  while  I  go  afoot  and  he 
splashes  me.  I  see  now  I  ought  to  have  had  a 
carriage.  Nobody  is  looked  at  unless  he  is  hidden 
in  a  carriage!  On  the  other  hand,  that  Council  of 
State  are  a  pack  of  do-nothings,  who  leave  their 
duties  to  little  scamps  every  one  of  whom  is  bought 
up  by  our  prefect.  That's  my  lawsuit!  They  want 
my  manufactory  !  Well,  they  '11  get  it !  and  they  must 
manage  the  best  they  can  with  my  workmen,  a  hun- 
dred of  'em,  who  '11  make  them  sing  another  tune 
before  they've  done  with  them." 

"How  long  have  you  been  here,  cousin?"  asked 
Leon  de  Lora. 

"  Two  years.  Ha!  that  meddling  prefect!  he  shall 
pay  dear  for  this;  I  '11  have  his  life  if  I  have  to  give 
mine  on  the  scaffold  —  " 

"  Which  state  councillor  presides  over  your  section?  " 

"A  former  newspaper  man,  —  does  n't  pay  ten  sous 
in  taxes, — his  name  is  Massol." 


196  Unconscious  Comedians. 

The  two  Parisians  exchanged  glances. 

"  Who  is  the  commissioner  who  is  making  the 
report  ?  " 

"Ha!  that's  still  more  queer;  he's  Master  of 
Petitions,  professor  of  something  or  other  at  the 
Sorbonne,  —  a  fellow  who  writes  things  in  reviews, 
and  for  whom  I  have  the  profoundest  contempt." 

"  Claude  Vignon,"  said  Bixiou. 

"  Yes,  that's  his  name,"  replied  Gazonal.  "  Massol 
and  Vignon  —  there  you  have  Social  Reason,  in  which 
there's  no  reason  at  all." 

"  There  must  be  some  way  out  of  it,"  said  Leon  de 
Lora.  "You  see,  cousin,  all  things  are  possible  in 
Paris  for  good  as  well  as  for  evil,  for  the  just  as  well 
as  the  unjust.  There  's  nothing  that  can't  be  done, 
undone,  and  redone." 

"  The  devil  take  me  if  I  stay  ten  days  more  in  this 
hole  of  a  place,  the  dullest  in  all  France !  " 

The  two  cousins  and  Bixiou  were  at  this  moment 
walking  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  that  sheet  of 
asphalt  on  which,  between  the  hours  of  one  and  three, 
it  is  difficult  to  avoid  seeing  some  of  the  personages 
in  honor  of  whom  Fame  puts  one  or  other  of  her 
trumpets  to  her  lips.  Formerly  that  locality  was  the 
Place  Royale;  next  it  was  the  Pont  Neuf;  in  these 
days  this  privilege  has  been  acquired  by  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens. 


Unconscious   Comedians.  197 

"Paris,"  said  the  painter  to  his  cousin,  "  is  an  in- 
strument on  which  we  must  know  how  to  play ;  if  we 
stand  here  ten  minutes  I  '11  give  you  your  first  lesson. 
There,  look !  "  he  said,  raising  his  cane  and  point- 
ing to  a  couple  who  were  just  then  coming  out  from 
the  Passage  de  1' Opera. 

"  Goodness  !  who  's  that?  "  asked  Gazonal. 

That  was  an  old  woman,  in  a  bonnet  which  had 
spent  six  months  in  a  show-case,  a  very  pretentious 
gown  and  a  faded  tartan  shawl,  whose  face  had  been 
buried  twenty  years  of  her  life  in  a  damp  lodge,  and 
whose  swollen  hand-bag  betokened  no  better  social 
position  than  that  of  an  ex-portress.  "With  her  was 
a  slim  little  girl,  whose  eyes,  fringed  with  black 
lashes,  had  lost  their  innocence  and  showed  great 
weariness ;  her  face,  of  a  pretty  shape,  was  fresh  and 
her  hair  abundant,  her  forehead  charming  but  auda- 
cious, her  bust  thin,  —  in  other  words,  an  unripe  fruit. 

"  That,"  replied  Bixiou,  "is  a  rat  tied  to  its  mother." 

"A  rat!  — what's  that?" 

"That  particular  rat,"  said  Leon,  with  a  friendly 
nod  to  Mademoiselle  Ninette,  "  may  perhaps  win  your 
suit  for  you." 

Gazonal  bounded ;  but  Bixiou  had  held  him  by  the 
arm  ever  since  they  left  the  cafe,  thinking  perhaps 
that  the  flush  on  his  face  was  rather  vivid. 

"  That  rat,  who   is   just  leaving  a  rehearsal  at  the 


198  Unconscious   Comedians. 

Opera-bouse,  is  going  home  to  eat  a  miserable  dinner, 
and  will  return  about  three  o'clock  to  dress,  if  she 
dances  in  the  ballet  this  evening  —  as  she  will,  to-day 
being  Monday.  This  rat  is  already  an  old  rat  for  she 
is  thirteen  years  of  age.  Two  years  from  now  that 
creature  may  be  worth  sixty  thousand  francs;  she  will 
be  all  or  nothing,  a  great  danseuse  or  a  marcheuse,  a 
celebrated  person  or  a  vulgar  courtesan.  She  has 
worked  hard  since  she  was  eight  years  old.  Such  as 
you  see  her,  she  is  worn  out  with  fatigue;  she  ex- 
hausted her  body  this  morning  in  the  dancing-class, 
she  is  just  leaving  a  rehearsal  where  the  evolutions 
are  as  complicated  as  a  Chinese  puzzle ;  and  she  '11  go 
through  them  again  to-night.  The  rat  is  one  of  the 
primary  elements  of  the  Opera;  she  is  to  the  leading 
danseuse  what  a  junior  clerk  is  to  a  notary.  The  rat 
is  —  hope." 

"  Who  produces  the  rat?  "  asked  Gazonal. 

"Porters,  paupers,  actors,  dancers,"  replied  Bixiou. 
"Only  the  lowest  depths  of  poverty  could  force  a 
child  to  subject  her  feet  and  joints  to  positive  torture, 
to  keep  herself  virtuous  out  of  mere  speculation  until 
she  is  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  to  live  with  some 
horrible  old  crone  like  a  beautiful  plant  in  a  dressing 
of  manure.  You  shall  now  see  a  procession  defiling 
before  you,  one  after  the  other,  of  men  of  talent, 
little  and  great,  artists  in  seed  or  flower,  who  are  rais- 


Unconscious  Comedians.  199 

ing  to  the  glory  of  France  that  every-day  monument 
called  the  Opera,  an  assemblage  of  forces,  wills,  and 
forms  of  genius,  nowhere  collected  as  in  Paris." 

"  I  have  already  seen  the  Opera,"  saidGazonal,  with 
a  self-sufficient  air. 

"Yes,  from  a  three-francs-sixty-sous  seat  among 
the  gods,"  replied  the  landscape  painter;  "  just  as  you 
have  seen  Paris  in  the  rue  Croix-des-Petits-Champs, 
without  knowing  anything  about  it.  What  did  they 
give  at  the  Opera  when  you  were  there  ?  " 
"  Guillaume  Tell." 

"Well,"  said   Leon,   "  Matilde's    grand    duo   must 
have   delighted    you.      What   do    you    suppose    that 
charming  singer  did  when  she  left  the  stage?" 
"She  — well,  what?" 

"  She  ate  two  bloody  mutton-chops  which  her  ser- 
vant had  ready  for  her." 
"Pooh!  nonsense  ! " 

"Malibran  kept  up  on  brandy  —  but  it  killed  her  in 
the  end.  Another  thing !  You  have  seen  the  ballet, 
and  you  '11  now  see  it  defiling  past  you  in  its  every-day 
clothes,  without  knowing  that  the  fate  of  your  lawsuit 
depends  on  a  pair  of  those  legs." 
"My  lawsuit!" 

"  See,  cousin,  here  comes  what  is  called  a  marcheuse." 

Leon  pointed  to  one  of  those  handsome  creatures 

who  at  twenty-five  years  of  age  have  lived  sixty,  and 


200  Unconscious  Comedians. 

whose  beauty  is  so  real  and  so  sure  of  being  culti- 
vated that  they  make  no  display  of  it.  She  was  tail, 
and  walked  well,  with  the  arrogant  look  of  a  dandy; 
her  toilet  was  remarkable  for  its  ruinous  simplicity. 

"  That  is  Carabine,"  said  Bixiou,  who  gave  her,  as 
did  Leon,  a  slight  nod  to  which  she  responded  by  a 
smile. 

"  There  's  another  who  may  possibly  get  your  prefect 
turned  out." 

"  A  marcheuse  ! —  but  what  is  that?  " 

"A  marcheuse  is  a  rat  of  great  beauty  whom 
her  mother,  real  or  fictitious,  has  sold  as  soon  as  it 
was  clear  she  would  become  neither  first,  second,  nor 
third  danseuse,  but  who  prefers  the  occupation  of 
coryphee  to  any  other,  for  the  main  reason  that  hav- 
ing spent  her  youth  in  that  employment  she  is  unfitted 
for  any  other.  She  has  been  rejected  at  the  minor 
theatres  where  they  want  danseuses ;  she  has  not  suc- 
ceeded in  the  three  towns  in  the  provinces  where 
ballets  are  given ;  she  has  not  had  the  money,  or  per- 
haps the  desire  to  go  to  foreign  countries  —  for  per- 
haps you  don't  know  that  the  great  school  of  dancing 
in  Paris  supplies  the  whole  world  with  male  and  female 
dancers.  Thus  a  rat  who  becomes  a  marcheuse, —  that 
is  to  say,  an  ordinary  figurante  in  a  ballet, —  must  have 
some  solid  attachment  which  keeps  her  in  Paris :  either 
a  rich  man  she  does  not  love  or  a  poor  man  she  loves 


Unconscious   Comedians.  201 

too  well.  The  one  you  have  just  seen  pass  will  prob- 
ably dress  and  redress  three  times  this  evening,  —  as 
a  princess,  a  peasant-girl,  a  Tyrolese;  by  which  she 
will  earn  about  two  hundred  francs  a  month." 

"  She  is  better  dressed  than  my  prefect's  wife." 

"  If  you  should  go  to  her  house,"  said  Bixiou,  "  you 
would  find  there  a  chamber-maid,  a  cook,  and  a  man- 
servant. She  occupies  a  fine  apartment  in  the  rue 
Saint-Georges ;  in  short,  she  is,  in  proportion  to  French 
fortunes  of  the  present  day  compared  with  those  of 
former  times,  a  relic  of  the  eighteenth  century  i  opera- 
girl.'  Carabine  is  a  power;  at  this  moment  she 
governs  du  Tillet,  a  banker  who  is  very  influential  in 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies." 

"  And  above  these  two  rounds  in  the  ballet  ladder 
what  comes  next?"  asked  Gazonal. 

"  Look !  "  said  his  cousin,  pointing  to  an  elegant 
caliche  which  was  turning  at  that  moment  from  the 
boulevard  into  the  rue  Grange-Bateliere,  "there's  one 
of  the  leading  danseuses  whose  name  on  the  posters 
attracts  all  Paris.  That  woman  earns  sixty  thousand 
francs  a  year  and  lives  like  a  princess ;  the  price  of 
your  manufactory  all  told  would  n't  suffice  to  buy  you 
the  privilege  of  bidding  her  good-morning  a  dozen 
times." 

"Do  you  see,"  said  Bixiou,  "that  young  man  who 
is  sitting  on  the  front  seat  of  her  carriage?     Well. 


202  Unconscious   Comedians. 

he  's  a  viscount  who  bears  a  fine  old  name;  he  's  her 
first  gentleman  of  the  bed-chamber;  does  all  her  busi- 
ness with  the  newspapers;  carries  messages  of  peace 
or  war  in  the  morning  to  the  director  of  the  Opera; 
and  takes  charge  of  the  applause  which  salutes  her  as 
she  enters  or  leaves  the  stage." 

"Well,  well,  my  good  friends,  that 's  the  finishing 
touch !  I  see  now  that  I  knew  nothing  of  the  ways  of 
Paris." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  are  learning  what  you  can  see  in 
ten  minutes  in  the  Passage  de  l'Opera,"  said  Bixiou. 
"Look  there." 

Two  persons,  a  man  and  a  woman,  came  out  of  the 
Passage  at  that  moment.  The  woman  was  neither 
plain  nor  pretty ;  but  her  dress  had  that  distinction  of 
style  and  cut  and  color  which  reveals  an  artist;  the 
man  had  the  air  of  a  singer. 

"There,"  said  Bixiou,  "  is  a  baritone  and  a  second 
danseuse.  The  baritone  is  a  man  of  immense  talent, 
but  a  baritone  voice  being  only  an  accessory  to  the 
other  parts  he  scarcely  earns  what  the  second  danseuse 
earns.  The  danseuse,  who  was  celebrated  before 
Taglioni  and  Ellsler  appeared,  has  preserved  to  our 
day  some  of  the  old  traditions  of  the  character  dance 
and  pantomime.  If  the  two  others  had  not  revealed 
in  the  art  of  dancing  a  poetry  hitherto  unperceived, 
she  would  have  been  the  leading  talent;  as  it  is,  she 


Unconscious  Comedians.  203 

is  reduced  to  the  second  line.  But  for  all  that,  she 
fingers  her  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  her 
faithful  friend  is  a  peer  of  France,  very  influential  in 
the  Chamber.  And  see  !  there  's  a  danseuse  of  the 
third  order,  who,  as  a  dancer,  exists  only  through  the 
omnipotence  of  a  newspaper.  If  her  engagement  were 
not  renewed  the  ministry  would  have  one  more  jour- 
nalistic enemy  on  its  back.  The  corps  de  ballet  is  a 
great  power ;  consequently  it  is  considered  better  form 
in  the  upper  ranks  of  dandyism  and  politics  to  have 
relations  with  dance  than  with  song.  In  the  stalls, 
where  the  habitues  of  the  Opera  congregate,  the  say- 
ing '  Monsieur  is  all  for  singing  '  is  a  form  of 
ridicule." 

A  short  man  with  a  common  face,  quite  simply 
dressed,  passed  them  at   this  moment. 

"There's  the  other  half  of  the  Opera  receipts  — 
that  man  who  just  went  by;  the  tenor.  There  is  no 
longer  any  play,  poem,  music,  or  representation  of  any 
kind  possible  unless  some  celebrated  tenor  can  reach 
a  certain  note.  The  tenor  is  love,  he  is  the  Voice  that 
touches  the  heart,  that  vibrates  in  the  soul,  and  his 
value  is  reckoned  at  a  much  higher  salary  than  that 
of  a  minister.  One  hundred  thousand  francs  for  a 
throat,  one  hundred  thousand  francs  for  a  couple  of 
ankle-bones,  —  those  are  the  two  financial  scourges  of 
the  Opera." 


204  Unconscious   Comedians. 

"  I  am  amazed/'  said  Gazonal,  "  at  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  francs  walking  about  here." 

""We'll  amaze  you  a  good  deal  more,  my  dear 
cousin,"  said  Leon  de  Lora.  "  We  '11  take  Paris  as 
an  artist  takes  his  violoncello,  and  show  you  how  it  is 
played,  —  in  short,  how  people  amuse  themselves  in 
Paris." 

"It  is  a  kaleidoscope  with  a  circumference  of 
twenty  miles,"  cried  Gazonal. 

"Before  piloting  monsieur  about,  I  have  to  see 
Gaillard,"  said  Bixiou. 

"But  we  can  use  Gaillard  for  the  cousin,"  replied 
Leon. 

"  What  sort  of  machine  is  that?  "  asked  Gazonal. 

"  He  is  n't  a  machine,  he  is  a  machinist.  Gaillard 
is  a  friend  of  ours  who  has  ended  a  miscellaneous 
career  by  becoming  the  editor  of  a  newspaper,  and 
whose  character  and  finances  are  governed  by  move- 
ments comparable  to  those  of  the  tides.  Gaillard  can 
contribute  to  make  you  win  your  lawsuit  —  " 

"It  is  lost." 

"  That 's  the  very  moment  to  win  it,"  replied  Bixiou. 

When  they  reached  Theodore  Gaillard's  abode,  which 
was  now  in  the  rue  de  Menars,  the  valet  ushered  the 
three  friends  into  a  boudoir  and  asked  them  to  wait, 
as  monsieur  was  in  secret  conference. 

"  With  whom?  "  asked  Bixiou. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  205 

"  "With  a  man  who  is  selling  him  the  incarceration 
of  an  unseizable  debtor,"  replied  a  handsome  woman 
who  now  appeared  in  a  charming  morning  toilet. 

"In  that  case,  my  dear  Suzanne,"  said  Bixiou,  "I 
am  certain  we  may  go  in." 

"Oh!  what  a  beautiful  creature!  "  said  Gazonal. 

"  That  is  Madame  Gaillard,"  replied  Leon  cle  Lora, 
speaking  low  into  his  cousin's  ear.  "  She  is  the  most 
humble-minded  woman  in  Paris,  for  she  had  the  public 
and  has  contented  herself  with  a  husband." 

"What  is  your  will,  messeigneurs?"  said  the  face- 
tious editor,  seeing  his  two  friends  and  imitating 
Frederic  Lemaitre. 

Theodore  Gaillard,  formerly  a  wit,  had  ended  by 
becoming  a  stupid  man  in  consequence  of  remaining 
constantly  in  one  centre,  —  a  moral  phenomenon  fre- 
quently to  be  observed  in  Paris.  His  principal 
method  of  conversation  consisted  in  sowing  his 
speeches  with  sayings  taken  from  plays  then  in  vogue 
and  pronounced  in  imitation  of  well-known  actors. 

"  We  have  come  to  blague  "  said  Leon. 

"  'Again,  young  men '  "  (Odry  in  the  Saltimbanques). 

"Well,  this  time,  we've  got  him,  sure,"  said  Gail- 
lard's  other  visitor,  apparently  by  way  of  conclusion. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  it,  pere  Fromenteau?"  asked 
Gaillard.  "  This  is  the  eleventh  time  you 've  caught 
him  at  night  and  missed  him  in  the  morning." 


206  Unconscious   Comedians. 


u 


How  could  I  help  it?  I  never  saw  such  a  debtor  ! 
he's  a  locomotive;  goes  to  sleep  in  Paris  and  wakes 
up  in  the  Seine-et-Oise.  A  safety  lock  I  call  him'." 
Seeing  a  smile  on  Gazonal's  face  he  added:  "  That 's 
a  saying  in  our  business.  Pinch  a  man,  means  arrest 
him,  lock  him  up.  The  criminal  police  have  another 
term.  Vidocq  said  to  his  man,  '  You  are  served ;' 
that's  funnier,  for  it  means  the  guillotine." 

A  nudge  from  Bixiou  made  Gazonal  all  eyes  and 
ears. 

"  Does  monsieur  grease  my  paws?  "  asked  Fromen- 
teau  of  Gaillard,  in  a  threatening  but  cool  tone. 

"  '  A  question  that  of  fifty  centimes  '  "  (Les  Saltim- 
bauques),  replied  the  editor,  taking  out  five  francs 
and  offering  them  to  Fromenteau. 

"  And  the  rapscallions?  "  said  the  man. 

"What  rapscallions?  "  asked  Gaillard. 

"  Those  I  employ,"  replied  Fromenteau  calmly. 

"Is  there  a  lower  depth  still?  "  asked  Bixiou. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  the  spy.  "Some  people 
give  us  information  without  knowing  they  do  so,  and 
without  getting  paid  for  it.  I  put  fools  and  ninnies 
below  rapscallions." 

"They  are  often  original,  and  witty,  your  rap- 
scallions !  "  said  Leon. 

"Do  you  belong  to  the  police?  "  asked  Gazonal, 
eying   with    uneasy   curiosity   the    hard,    impassible 


Unconscious  Comedians.  207 

little  man,  who  was  dressed  like  the  third  clerk  in  a 
sheriff's  office. 

"Which  police  do  you  mean?"  asked  Fromenteau. 

"  Are  there  several?  " 

"As  many  as  five,"  replied  the  man.  "Criminal, 
the  head  of  which  was  Vidocq;  secret  police,  which 
keeps  an  eye  on  the  other  police,  the  head  of  it  being 
always  unknown;  political  police,  — that's  Fouche's. 
Then  there  's  the  police  of  Foreign  Affairs,  and  finally, 
the  palace  police  (of  the  Emperor,  Louis  XVIII.,  etc.), 
always  squabbling  with  that  of  the  quai  Malaquais. 
It  came  to  an  end  under  Monsieur  Decazes.  I  be- 
longed to  the  police  of  Louis  XVIII. ;  I  'd  been  in  it 
since  1793,  with  that  poor  Contenson." 

The  four  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other  with  one 
thought:  "  How  many  heads  he  must  have  brought  to 
the  scaffold !  " 

"  Now-a-days,  they  are  trying  to  get  on  without  us. 
Folly !  "  continued  the  little  man,  who  began  to  seem 
terrible.  "  Since  1830  they  want  honest  men  at  the 
prefecture  !  I  resigned,  and  I  've  made  myself  a  small 
vocation  by  arresting  for  debt." 

"He  is  the  right  arm  of  the  commercial  police," 
said  Gaillard  in  Bixiou's  ear,  "  but  you  can  never  find 
out  who  pa}Ts  him  most,  the  debtor  or  the  creditor." 

"The  more  rascally  a  business  is,  the  more  honor 
it  needs.     I  'm  for  him  who  pays  me  best,"  continued 


208  Unconscious   Comedians. 

Fromenteau  addressing  Gaillard.  "You  want  to  re- 
cover fifty  thousand  francs  and  you  talk  farthings  to 
your  means  of  action.  Give  me  five  hundred  francs 
and  your  man  is  pinched  to-night,  for  we  spotted 
him  yesterday." 

"Five  hundred  francs  for  you  alone!"  cried 
Theodore  Gaillard. 

"Lizette  wants  a  shawl,"  said  the  spy,  not  a  muscle 
of  his  face  moving.  "I  call  her  Lizette  because  of 
Beranger." 

"  You  have  a  Lizette,  and  you  stay  in  such  a  busi- 
ness !  "  cried  the  virtuous  Gazonal. 

"It  is  amusing!  People  may  cry  up  the  pleasures 
of  hunting  and  fishing  as  much  as  they  like  but  to 
stalk  a  man  in  Paris  is  far  better  fun." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Gazonal,  reflectively,  speaking  to 
himself,  "  they  must  have  great  talent." 

44  If  I  were  to  enumerate  the  qualities  which  make  a 
man  remarkable  in  our  vocation,"  said  Fromenteau, 
whose  rapid  glance  had  enabled  him  to  fathom  Gazonal 
completely,  "  you'd  think  I  was  talking  of  a  man  of 
genius.  First,  we  must  have  the  eyes  of  a  lynx ;  next, 
audacity  (to  tear  into  houses  like  bombs,  accost  the 
servants  as  if  we  knew  them,  and  propose  treachery  — 
always  agreed  to)  ;  next,  memory,  sagacity,  inven- 
tion (to  make  schemes,  conceived  rapidly,  never  the 
same  —  for  spying  must  be  guided  by  the  characters 


Unconscious   Comedians,  209 

and  habits  of  the  persons  spied  upon;  it  is  a  gift  of 
heaven) ;  and,  finalty,  agility,  vigor.  All  those  facil- 
ities and  qualities,  monsieur,  are  depicted  on  the  door 
of  the  Gyumase-Amoros  as  Virtue.  Well,  we  must 
have  them  all,  under  pain  of  losing  the  salaries  given 
us  by  the  State,  the  rue  de  Jerusalem,  or  the  minister 
of  Commerce." 

"  You  certainly  seem  to  me  a  remarkable  man,"  said 
Gazonal. 

Fromenteau  looked  at  the  provincial  without  reply- 
ing, without  betraying  the  smallest  sign  of  feeling, 
and  departed,  bowing  to  no  one, — a  trait  of  real 
genius. 

"  Well,  cousin,  you  have  now  seen  the  police  incar- 
nate," said  Leon  to  Gazonal. 

"  It  has  something  the  effect  of  a  dinner-pill,"  said 
the  worthy  provincial,  while  Gaillard  and  Bixiou  were 
talking  together  in  a  low  voice. 

"I'll  give  you  an  answer  to-night  at  Carabine's," 
said  Gaillard  aloud,  re-seating  himself  at  his  desk 
without  seeing  or  bowing  to  Gazonal. 

"  He  is  a  rude  fellow  !  "  cried  the  Southerner  as  they 
left  the  room. 

"His  paper  has  twenty-two  thousand  subscribers," 

said  Leon  de  Lora.     "He  is  one  of  the  five   great 

powers  of  the  day,  and  he  has  n't,  in  the  morning,  the 

time  to  be  polite.     Now,"  continued  Leon,  speaking 

u 


210  Unconscious   Comedians. 

to  Bixiou,  "  if  we  are  going  to  the  Chamber  to  help 
him  with  his  lawsuit  let  us  take  the  longest  way 
round. " 

"  Words  said  by  great  men  are  like  silver-gilt 
spoons  with  the  gilt  washed  off;  by  dint  of  repetition 
they  lose  their  brilliancy,"  said  Bixiou.  "  Where 
shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Here,  close  by,  to  our  hatter,"  replied  Leon. 

"Bravo!  "  cried  Bixiou.  "  If  we  keep  on  in  this 
way,  we  shall  have  an  amusing  day  of  it." 

"  Gazonal,"  said  Leon,  "  I  shall  make  the  man  pose 
for  you ;  but  mind  that  you  keep  a  serious  face,  like 
the  king  on  a  five-franc  piece,  for  you  are  going  to 
see  a  choice  original,  a  man  whose  importance  has 
turned  his  head.  In  these  days,  my  clear  fellow, 
under  our  new  political  dispensation,  every  human 
being  tries  to  cover  himself  with  glory,  and  most  of 
them  cover  themselves  with  ridicule;  hence  a  lot  of 
living  caricatures  quite  new  to  the  world." 

"If  everybody  gets  glory,  who  can  be  famous?" 
said  Gazonal. 

"  Fame  !  none  but  fools  want  that,"  replied  Bixiou. 
"  Your  cousin  wears  the  cross,  but  I  'in  the  better 
dressed  of  the  two,  and  it  is  I  whom  people  are 
looking  at." 

After  this  remark,  which  may  explain  why  orators 
and  other  great  statesmen  no  longer  put  the  ribbon  in 


Unconscious  Comedians.  211 

their  buttonholes  when  in  Paris,  Leon  showed  Gazonal 
a  sign,  bearing,  in  golden  letters,  the  illustrious  name 
of  Vital,  successor  to  Finot,  manufacturer  of  hats  (no 
longer  "hatter"  as  formerly),  whose  advertisements 
brought  in  more  money  to  the  newspapers  than  those 
of  any  half-dozen  vendors  of  pills  or  sugarplums,  —  the 
author,  moreover,  of  an  essay  on  hats. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Bixiou  to  Gazonal,  point- 
ing to  the  splendors  of  the  show-window,  "Vital 
has  forty  thousand  francs  a  year  from  invested 
property." 

"  And  he  stays  a  hatter!  "  cried  the  Southerner,  with 
a  bound  that  almost  broke  the  arm  which  Bixiou  had 
linked  in  his. 

"You  shall  see  the  man,"  said  Leon.  "  Yt)u  need 
a  hat  and  you  shall  have  one  gratis." 

"Is  Monsieur  Vital  absent?  "  asked  Bixiou,  seeing 
no  one  behind  the  desk. 

"  Monsieur  is  correcting  proof  in  his  study,''  replied 
the  head  clerk. 

"  Hein!  what  style!  "  said  Leon  to  his  cousin;  then 
he  added,  addressing  the  clerk:  "Could  we  speak  to 
him  without  injury  to  his  inspiration?  " 

"Let  those  gentlemen  enter,"  said  a  voice. 

It  was  a  bourgeois  voice,  the  voice  of  one  eligible  to 
the  Chamber,  a  powerful  voice,  a  wealthy  voice. 

Vital  deigned  to  show  himself,  dressed  entirely  in 


212  Unconscious   Comedians. 

black  cloth,  with  a  splendid  frilled  shirt  adorned  with 
one  diamond.  The  three  friends  observed  a  young 
and  pretty  woman  sitting  near  the  desk,  working  at 
some  embroidery. 

Vital  is  a  man  between  thirty  and  forty  years  of 
age,  with  a  natural  joviality  now  repressed  by  ambitious 
ideas.  He  is  blessed  with  that  medium  height  which 
is  the  privilege  of  sound  organizations.  He  is  rather 
plump,  and  takes  great  pains  with  his  person.  His 
forehead  is  getting  bald,  but  he  uses  that  circum- 
stance to  give  himself  the  air  of  a  man  consumed  by 
thought.  It  is  easy  to  see  by  the  way  his  wife  looks 
at  him  and  listens  to  him  that  she  believes  in  the 
genius  and  glory  of  her  husband.  Vital  loves  artists, 
not  that  he  has  any  taste  for  art,  but  from  fellowship ; 
for  he  feels  himself  an  artist,  and  makes  this  felt  by 
disclaiming  that  title  of  nobility,  and  placing  himself 
with  constant  premeditation  at  so  great  a  distance 
from  the  arts  that  persons  may  be  forced  to  say  to 
him:  "  You  have  raised  the  construction  of  hats  to  the 
height  of  a  science." 

"Have  you  at  last  discovered  a  hat  to  suit  me?" 
asked  Leon  de  Lora. 

"Why,  monsieur!  in  fifteen  days?"  replied  Vital, 
"and  for  you!  Two  months  would  hardly  suffice  to 
invent  a  shape  in  keeping  with  your  countenance. 
See,  here  is  your  lithographic  portrait:  I  have  studied 


Unconscious   Comedians.  213 

it  most  carefully.  I  would  not  give  myself  that 
trouble  for  a  prince;  but  you  are  more;  you  are  an 
artist,  and  you  understand  me." 

"  This  is  one  of  our  greatest  inventors,"  said  Bixiou 
presenting  Gazonal.  "  He  might  be  as  great  as 
Jacquart  if  he  would  only  let  himself  die.  Our  friend, 
a  manufacturer  of  cloth,  has  discovered  a  method  of 
replacing  the  indigo  in  old  blue  coats,  and  he  wants 
to  see  you  as  another  great  phenomenon,  because  he 
has  heard  of  your  saying,  '  The  hat  is  the  man.'  That 
speech  of  yours  enraptured  him.  Ah !  Vital,  you  have 
faith;  you  believe  in  something;  you  have  enthusiasm 
for  your  work." 

Vital  scarcely  listened ;  he  grew  pale  with  pleasure. 

"  Rise,  my  wife!     Monsieur  is  a  prince  of  science." 

Madame  Vital  rose  at  her  husband's  gesture. 
Gazonal  bowed  to  her. 

"  Shall  I  have  the  honor  to  cover  your  head?  "  said 
Vital,  with  joyful  obsequiousness. 

"  At  the  same  price  as  mine,"  interposed  Bixiou. 

"  Of  course,  of  course;  I  ask  no  other  fee  than  to 
be  quoted  by  you,  messieurs  —  Monsieur  needs  a 
picturesque  hat,  something  in  the  style  of  Monsieur 
Lousteau's,"  he  continued,  looking  at  Gazonal  with 
the  eye  of  a  master.     "  I  will  consider  it." 

"You  give  yourself  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  said 
Gazonal. 


214  Unconscious  Comedians. 

"  Oh!  for  a  few  persons  only;  for  those  who  know 
how  to  appreciate  the  value  of  the  pains  I  bestow  upon 
them.  Now,  take  the  aristocracy  —  there  is  but  one 
man  there  who  has  truly  comprehended  the  Hat ;  and 
that  is  the  Prince  de  Bethune.  How  is  it  that  men 
do  not  consider,  as  women  do,  that  the  hat  is  the  first 
thing  that  strikes  the  eye?  And  why  have  they  never 
thought  of  changing  the  present  system,  which  is,  let 
us  say  it  frankly,  ignoble?  Yes,  ignoble;  and  yet  a 
Frenchman  is,  of  all  nationalities,  the  one  most  per- 
sistent in  this  folly!  I  know  the  difficulties  of  a 
change,  messieurs.  I  don't  speak  of  my  own  writings 
on  the  matter,  which,  as  I  think,  approach  it  philo- 
sophically, but  simply  as  a  hatter.  I  have  myself 
studied  means  to  accentuate  the  infamous  head-cover- 
ing to  which  France  is  now  enslaved  until  I  succeed 
in  overthrowing  it." 

So  saying  he  pointed  to  the  hideous  hat  in  vogue  at 
the  present  day. 

"Behold  the  enemy,  messieurs,"  he  continued. 
"How  is  it  that  the  wittiest  and  most  satirical  people 
on  earth  will  consent  to  wear  upon  their  heads  a  bit 
of  stove-pipe  ?  —  as  one  of  our  great  writers  has  called 
it.  Here  are  some  of  the  inflections  I  have  been  able 
to  give  to  those  atrocious  lines,"  he  added,  pointing  to 
a  number  of  his  creations.  "But,  although  I  am  able 
to  conform  them  to  the  character  of  each  wearer  —  for, 


Unconscious  Comedians.  215 

as  you  see,  here  are  the  hats  of  a  doctor,  a  grocer,  a 
dandy,  an  artist,  a  fat  man,  a  thin  man,  and  so  forth 
—  the  style  itself  remains  horrible.  Seize,  I  beg  of 
you,  my  whole  thought  —  " 

He  took  up  a  hat,  low-crowued  and  wide-brimmed. 

"  This,"  he  continued,  "is  the  old  hat  of  Claude 
Vignon,  a  great  critic,  in  the  days  when  he  was  a  free 
man  and  a  free-liver.  He  has  lately  come  round  to 
the  ministry;  they've  made  him  a  professor,  a 
librarian;  he  writes  now  for  the  Debats  only;  they've 
appointed  him  Master  of  Petitions  with  a  salary  of 
sixteen  thousand  francs ;  he  earns  four  thousand  more 
out  of  his  paper,  and  he  is  decorated.  Well,  now  see 
his  new  hat." 

And  Vital  showed  them  a  hat  of  a  form  and  design 
which  was  truly  expressive  of  the  juste-milieu, 

"  You  ought  to  have  made  him  a  Punch  and  Judy 
hat !  "  cried  Gazonal. 

"You  are  a  man  of  genius,  Monsieur  Vital,"  said 
Leon. 

Vital  bowed. 

"  Would  you  kindly  tell  me  why  the  shops  of  your 
trade  in  Paris  remain  open  late  at  night, — later  than 
the  cafes  and  the  wineshops?  That  fact  puzzles  me 
very  much,"  said  Gazonal. 

"In  the  first  place,  our  shops  are  much  finer  when 
lighted  up  than  they  are  in  the  daytime;  next,  where 


216  Unconscious   Comedians. 

we  sell  ten  hats  in  the  daytime  we  sell  fifty  at 
night." 

"Everything  is  queer  in  Paris,"  said  Leon. 

"Thanks  to  my  efforts  and  my  successes,"  said 
Vital,  returning  to  the  course  of  his  self-laudation, 
"  we  are  coming  to  hats  with  round  headpieces.  It  is 
to  that  I  tend!" 

"  What  obstacle  is  there  ?  "  asked  Gazonal. 

"Cheapness,  monsieur.  In  the  first  place,  very 
handsome  silk  hats  can  be  built  for  fifteen  francs, 
which  kills  our  business ;  for  in  Paris  no  one  ever  has 
fifteen  francs  in  his  pocket  to  spend  on  a  hat.  If  a 
beaver  hat  costs  thirty,  it  is  still  the  same  thing  — 
When  I  say  beaver,  I  ought  to  state  that  there  are  not 
ten  pounds  of  beaver  skins  left  in  France.  That 
article  is  worth  three  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  pound, 
and  it  takes  an  ounce  for  a  hat.  Besides,  a  beaver 
hat  isn't  really  worth  anything;  the  skin  takes  a 
wretched  dye;  gets  rusty  in  ten  minutes  in  the  sun, 
and  heat  puts  it  out  of  shape  as  well.  What  we  call 
4  beaver  '  in  the  trade  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
hare's-skin.  The  best  qualities  are  made  from  the 
back  of  the  animal,  the  second  from  the  sides,  the 
third  from  the  belly.  I  confide  to  you  these  trade 
secrets  because  you  are  men  of  honor.  But  whether  a 
man  has  hare's-skin  or  silk  on  his  head,  fifteen  or 
thirty  francs  in  short,  the  problem  is  always  insoluble. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  217 

Hats  must  be  paid  for  in  cash,  and  that  is  why  the 
hat  remains  what  it  is.  The  honor  of  vestural  France 
will  be  saved  on  the  day  that  gray  hats  with  round 
crowns  can  be  made  to  cost  a  hundred  francs.  We 
could  then,  like  the  tailors,  give  credit.  To  reach  that 
result  men  must  resolve  to  wear  buckles,  gold  lace, 
plumes,  and  the  brims  lined  with  satin,  as  in  the  days 
of  Louis  XIII.  and  Louis  XIV.  Our  business,  which 
would  then  enter  the  domain  of  fancy,  would  increase 
tenfold.  The  markets  of  the  world  should  belong  to 
France;  Paris  will  forever  give  the  tone  to  women's 
fashions,  and  yet  the  hats  which  all  Frenchmen  wear 
to-day  are  made  in  every  country  on  earth!  There 
are  ten  millious  of  foreign  money  to  be  gained 
annually  for  France  in  that  question  — ■ " 

"  A  revolution !  "  cried  Bixiou,  pretending  enthu- 
siasm. 

"Yes,  and  a  radical  one;  for  the  form  must  be 
changed." 

"  You  are  happy  after  the  manner  of  Luther  in 
dreaming  of  reform,"  said  Leon. 

"  Yes,  monsieur.  Ah!  if  a  dozen  or  fifteen  artists, 
capitalists,  or  dandies  who  set  the  tone  would  only 
have  courage  for  twenty-four  hours  France  would  gain 
a  splendid  commercial  battle!  To  succeed  in  this 
reform  I  would  give  my  whole  fortune!  Yes,  my  sole 
ambition  is  to  regenerate  the  hat  and  disappear." 


218  Unconscious   Comedians. 

"  The  rrian  is  colossal,"  said  Gazoual,  as  they  left 
the  shop;  "  but  I  assure  you  that  all  your  originals  so 
far  have  a  touch  of  the  Southerner  about  them." 

'  Let  us  go  this  way,"  said  Bixiou  pointing  to  the 
rue  Saint-Marc. 

"  Do  you  want  to  show  me  something  else?  " 

"Yes;  you  shall  see  the  usuress  of  rats,  ?narcheuses 
and  great  ladies,  —  a  woman  who  possesses  more  ter- 
rible secrets  than  there  are  gowns  hanging  in  her 
window,"  said  Bixiou. 

And  he  showed  Gazonal  one  of  those  untidy  shops 
which  make  an  ugly  stain  in  the  midst  of  the  dazzling 
show-windows  of  modern  retail  commerce.  This  shop 
had  a  front  painted  in  1820,  which  some  bankrupt  had 
doubtless  left  in  a  dilapidated  condition.  The  color 
had  disappeared  beneath  a  double  coating  of  dirt,  the 
result  of  usage,  and  a  thick  layer  of  dust;  the  window- 
panes  were  filthy,  the  door-knob  turned  of  itself,  as 
door-knobs  do  in  all  places  where  people  go  out  more 
quickly  than  they  enter. 

"  What  do  you  say  of  that?  First  cousin  to  Death, 
isn't  she?"  said  Leon  in  Gazonal's  ear,  showing 
him,  at  the  desk,  a  terrible  individual.  "Well,  she 
calls  herself  Madame  Nourrisson." 

"Madame,  how  much  is  this  guipure?"  asked  the 
manufacturer,  intending  to  compete  in  liveliness  with 
the  two  artists. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  219 


u 


To  yon,  monsieur,  who  come  from  the  country,  it 
will  be  only  three  hundred  francs,"  she  replied.  Then, 
remarking  in  his  manner  a  sort  of  eagerness  peculiar 
to  Southerners,  she  added,  in  a  grieved  tone,  u  It 
formerly  belonged  to  that  poor  Princesse  de  Lamballe." 

"  What!  do  you  dare  exhibit  it  so  near  the  palace?" 
cried  Bixiou. 

"Monsieur,  they  don't  believe  in  it,"  she  replied. 

"Madame,  we  have  not  come  to  make  purchases," 
said  Bixiou,  with  a  show  of  frankness. 

"  So  I  see,  monsieur,"  returned  Madame  Nourrisson. 

"We  have  several  things  to  sell,"  said  the  illustri- 
ous caricaturist.  "  I  live  close  by,  rue  de  Richelieu, 
112,  sixth  floor.  If  you  will  come  round  there  for  a 
moment,  you  may  perhaps  make  some  good  bargains." 

Ten  minutes  later  Madame  Nourrisson  did  in  fact 
present  herself  at  Bixiou' s  lodgings,  where  by  that  time 
he  had  taken  Leon  and  Gazonal.  Madame  Nourrisson 
found  them  all  three  as  serious  as  authors  whose  col- 
laboration does  not  meet  with  the  success  it  deserves. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  intrepid  hoaxer,  showing  her 
a  pair  of  women's  slippers,  "  these  belonged  formerly 
to  the  Empress  Josephine." 

He  felt  it  incumbent  on  him  to  return  change  for 
the  Princesse  de  Lamballe. 

"Those!"  she  exclaimed;  "they  were  made  this 
year;  look  at  the  mark." 


220  Unconscious   Comedians. 


u 


Don't  you  perceive  that  the  slippers  are  only  by 
way  of  preface?"  said  Leon;  "though,  to  be  sure, 
they  are  usually  the  conclusion  of  a  tale." 

"  My  friend  here,"  said  Bixiou,  motioning  to 
Gazonal,  "  has  an  immense  family  interest  in  ascer- 
taining whether  a  young  lady  of  a  good  and  wealthy 
house,    whom   he   wishes    to    marry,    has   ever  gone 


wrong." 


"  How  much  will  monsieur  give  for  the  informa- 
tion," she  asked,  looking  at  Gazonal,  who  was  no 
longer  surprised  by  anything. 

"One  hundred  francs,"  he  said. 

"No,  thank  you!"  she  said  with  a  grimace  of 
refusal  worthy  of  a  macaw. 

"  Then  say  how  much  you  want,  my  little  Madame 
Nourrisson,"  cried  Bixiou  catching  her  round  the 
waist. 

"In  the  first  place,  my  dear  gentlemen,  I  have 
never,  since  I  've  been  in  the  business,  found  man  or 
woman  to  haggle  over  happiness.  Besides,"  she  said, 
letting  a  cold  smile  flicker  on  her  lips,  and  enforcing 
it  by  an  icy  glance  full  of  catlike  distrust,  "if  it 
does  n't  concern  your  happiness,  it  concerns  your  for- 
tune ;  and  at  the  height  where  I  find  you  lodging  no 
man  haggles  over  a  clot —  Come,"  she  said,  "out 
with  it!     What  is  it  you  want  to  know,  my  lambs?  " 

"About  the  Beunier  family,"  replied  Bixiou,  very 


Unconscious   Comedians.  221 

glad  to  find  out  something  in  this  indirect  manner 
about  persons  in  whom  he  was  interested. 

"Oh!  as  for  that,"  she  said,  "one  louis  is  quite 
enough." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  hold  all  the  mother's  jewels  and  she  's 
on  tenter-hooks  every  three  months,  I  can  tell  you!  It 
is  hard  work  for  her  to  pay  the  interest  on  what  I  've 
lent  her.  Do  you  want  to  marry  there,  simpleton  ?  " 
she  added,  addressing  Gazonal;  "then  pay  mc  forty 
francs  and  I  '11  talk  four  hundred  worth." 

Gazonal  produced  a  forty-franc  gold-piece,  and 
Madame  Nourrisson  gave  him  startling  details  as  to 
the  secret  penury  of  certain  so-called  fashionable 
women.  This  dealer  in  cast-off  clothes,  getting  lively 
as  she  talked,  pictured  herself  unconsciously  while 
telling  of  others.  Without  betraying  a  single  name 
or  any  secret,  she  made  the  three  men  shudder  by 
proving  to  them  how  little  so-called  happiness  existed 
in  Paris  that  did  not  rest  on  the  vacillating  founda- 
tion of  borrowed  money.  She  possessed,  laid  away 
in  her  drawers,  the  secrets  of  departed  grandmothers, 
living  children,  deceased  husbands,  dead  granddaugh- 
ters, —  memories  set  in  gold  and  diamonds.  She 
learned  appalling  histories  by  making  her  clients  talk 
of  one  another;  tearing  their  secrets  from  them  in 
moments  of  passion,  of  quarrels,  of  anger,  and  during 


222  Unconscious   Comedians. 

those  cooler  negotiations  which  need  a  loan  to  settle 
difficulties. 

"Why  were  you  ever  induced  to  take  up  such  a 
business?"  asked  Gazonah 

"For  my  son's  sake,"  she  said  naively. 

Such  women  almost  invariably  justify  their  trade  by 
alleging  noble  motives.  Madame  Nourrisson  posed 
as  having  lost  several  opportunities  for  marriage,  also 
three  daughters  who  had  gone  to  the  bad,  and  all  her 
illusions.  She  showed  the  pawn-tickets  of  the  Mont- 
de-Piete  to  prove  the  risks  her  business  ran ;  declared 
she  did  not  know  how  to  meet  the  "end  of  the  month; " 
she  was  robbed,  she  said,  — robbed. 

The  two  artists  looked  at  each  other  on  hearing 
that  expression,  which  seemed  exaggerated. 

"Look  here,  my  sons,  I'll  show  you  how  we  are 
done.  It  is  not  about  myself,  but  about  my  opposite 
neighbor,  Madame  Mahuchet,  a  ladies'  shoemaker.  I 
had  loaned  money  to  a  countess,  a  woman  who  has  too 
many  passions  for  her  means,  —  lives  in  a  fine  apart- 
ment filled  with  splendid  furniture,  and  makes,  as  we 
say,  a  devil  of  a  show  with  her  high  and  mighty  airs. 
She  owed  three  hundred  francs  to  her  shoemaker,  and 
was  giving  a  dinner  no  later  than  yesterday.  The 
shoemaker,  who  heard  of  the  dinner  from  the  cook, 
came  to  see  me;  we  got  excited,  and  she  wanted  to 
make  a  row ;  but  I  said :  '  My  dear  Madame  Mahuchet, 


Unconscious   Comedians.  223 

what  good  will  that  do?  you  '11  only  get  yourself  hated. 
It  is  much  better  to  obtain  some  security;  and  you 
save  your  bile.'  She  wouldn't  listen,  but  go  she 
would,  and  asked  me  to  support  her;  so  I  went. 
4  Madame  is  not  at  home.'  —  '  Up  to  that!  we  '11  wait,' 
said  Madame  Mahuchet,  '  if  we  have  to  stay  all  night,' 
—  and  down  we  camped  in  the  antechamber.  Pres- 
ently the  doors  began  to  open  and  shut,  and  feet  and 
voices  came  along.  I  felt  badly.  The  guests  were 
arriving  for  dinner.  You  can  see  the  appearance  it 
had.  The  countess  sent  her  maid  to  coax  Madame 
Mahuchet:  'Pay  you  to-morrow!'  in  short,  all  the 
snares !  Nothing  took.  The  countess,  dressed  to  the 
nines,  went  to  the  dining-room.  Mahuchet  heard  her 
and  opened  the  door.  Gracious !  when  she  saw  that 
table  sparkling  with  silver,  the  covers  to  the  dishes 
and  the  chandeliers  all  glittering  like  a  jewel-case, 
didn't  she  go  off  like  soda-water  and  fire  her  shot: 
1  When  people  spend  the  money  of  others  they  should 
be  sober  and  not  give  dinner-parties.  Think  of  your 
being  a  countess  and  owing  three  hundred  francs  to  a 
poor  shoemaker  with  seven  children! '  You  can  guess 
how  she  railed,  for  the  Mahuchet  has  n't  any  educa- 
tion. When  the  couutess  tried  to  make  an  excuse 
(4  no  money  ')  Mahuchet  screamed  out:  '  Look  at  all 
your  fine  silver,  madame;  pawn  it  and  pay  me!'  — 
Take   some   yourself,'    said    the    countess   quickly, 


t     T 


224  Unconscious   Comedians. 

gathering  up  a  quantity  of  forks  and  spoons  and 
putting  them  into  her  hands.  Downstairs  we  rattled! 
—  heavens!  like  success  itself.  No,  before  we  got 
to  the  street  Mahuchet  began  to  cry  —  she's  a  kind 
woman !  She  turned  back  and  restored  the  silver  ;  for 
she  now  understood  that  countess's  poverty  —  it  was 
plated   ware !  " 

"And  she  forked  it  over,"  said  Leon,  in  whom  the 
former  Mistigris  occasionally  reappeared. 

"Ah!  my  dear  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Nourrisson, 
enlightened  by  the  slang,  "you  are  an  artist,  you 
write  plays,  you  live  in  the  rue  du  Helder  and  are 
friends  with  Madame  Antonia;  you  have  habits  that 
I  know  all  about.  Come,  do  you  want  some  rarity  in 
the  grand  style, —  Carabine  or  Mousqueton,  Malaga  or 
Jenny  Cadine?  " 

"Malaga,  Carabine!  nonsense!"  cried  Leon  de 
Lora.     "It  was  we  who  invented  them." 

"I  assure  you,  my  good  Madame  Nourrisson,"  said 
Bixiou,  "that  we  only  wanted  the  pleasure  of  making 
your  acquaintance,  and  we  should  like  very  much  to 
be  informed  as  to  how  you  ever  came  to  slip  into  this 
business." 

"  I  was  confidential  maid  in  the  family  of  a  marshal 
of  France,  Prince  dTsembourg,"  she  said,  assuming 
the  airs  of  a  Dorine.  "One  morning,  one  of  the  most 
beplumed  countesses   of  the  Imperial    court  came  to 


Unconscious   Comedians.  225 

the  house  and  wanted  to  speak  to  the  marshal  pri- 
vately- I  put  myself  in  the  way  of  hearing  what 
she  said.  She  burst  into  tears  and  confided  to  that 
booby  of  a  marshal  —  yes,  the  Conde  of  the  Republic 
is  a  booby !  —  that  her  husband,  who  served  under  him 
in  Spain,  had  left  her  without  means,  aud  if  she 
did  n't  get  a  thousand  francs,  or  two  thousand,  that  day 
her  children  must  go  without  food;  she  hadn't  any  for 
the  morrow.  The  marshal,  who  was  always  ready  to 
give  in  those  days,  took  two  notes  of  a  thousand  francs 
each  out  of  his  desk,  aud  gave  them  to  her.  I  saw 
that  fine  countess  going  down  the  staircase  where  she 
couldn't  see  me.  She  was  laughing  with  a  satisfac- 
tion that  certainly  wasn't  motherly,  so  I  slipped  after 
her  to  the  peristyle  where  I  heard  her  say  to  the 
coachman,  4  To  Leroy's.'  I  ran  round  quickly  to 
Leroy's,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  poor  mother. 
I  got  there  in  time  to  see  her  order  and  pay  for  a 
fifteen-hundred-franc  dress  ;  you  understand  that  in 
those  days  people  were  made  to  pay  when  they 
bought.  The  next  day  but  one  she  appeared  at  an 
ambassador's  ball,  dressed  to  please  all  the  world  and 
some  one  in  particular.  That  day  I  said  to  myself : 
'  I  've  got  a  career!  When  I  'm  no  longer  young  I  '11 
lend  money  to  great  ladies  on  their  finery;  for  passion 
never  calculates,  it  pays  blindly.'  If  you  want  sub- 
jects for  a  vaudeville  I  can  sell  you  plenty." 

15 


226  Unconscious   Comedians. 

She  departed  after  delivering  this  tirade,  in  which 
all  the  phases  of  her  past  life  were  outlined,  leaving 
Gazonal  as  much  horrified  by  her  revelations  as  by 
the  five  yellow  teeth  she  showed  when  she  tried  to 
smile. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"Make  notes, "  replied  Bixiou,  whistling  for  his 
porter;  "for  I  want  some  money,  and  I'll  show  you 
the  use  of  porters.  You  think  they  only  pull  the  gate- 
cord  ;  whereas  they  really  pull  poor  devils  like  me  and 
artists  whom  they  take  under  their  protection  out  of 
difficulties.  Mine  will  get  the  Montyon  prize  one  of 
these  days." 

Gazonal  opened  his  eyes  to  their  utmost  roundness. 

A  man  between  two  ages,  partly  a  gray  beard,  partly 
an  office-boy,  but  more  oily  within  and  without,  hair 
greasy,  stomach  puffy,  skin  dull  and  moist,  like  that 
of  the  prior  of  a  convent,  always  wearing  list  shoes,  a 
blue  coat,  and  grayish  trousers,  made  his  appearance. 

"  What  is  it,  monsieur?  "  he  said  with  an  air  which 
combined  that  of  a  protector  and  a  subordinate. 

"  Ravenouillet —  His  name  is  Ravenouillet,"  said 
Bixiou  turning  to  Gazonal.  "Have  you  our  note- 
book of  bills  due  with  you?" 

Ravenouillet  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  the  greasiest 
and  stickiest  book  that  Gazonal' s  eyes  had  ever 
beheld. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  227 

"  Write  clown  at  three  months'  sight  two  notes  of 
five  hundred  francs  each,  which  you  will  proceed  to 
sign." 

And  Bixiou  handed  over  two  notes  already  drawn 
to  his  order  by  Ravenouillet,  which  Ravenouillet 
immediately  signed  and  inscribed  on  the  greasy  book, 
in  which  his  wife  also  kept  account  of  the  debts  of  the 
other  lodgers. 

"Thanks,  Ravenouillet,"  said  Bixiou.  "  And  here  's 
a  box  at  the  Vaudeville  for  you." 

"Oh!  my  daughter  will  enjoy  that,"  said  Rave- 
nouillet, departing. 

"  There  are  seventy-one  tenants  in  this  house,"  said 
Bixiou,  "and  the  average  of  what  they  owe  Rave- 
nouillet is  six  thousand  francs  a  month,  eighteen  thou- 
sand quarterly  for  money  advanced,  postage,  etc.,  not 
counting  the  rents  clue.  He  is  Providence  —  at  thirty 
per  cent,  which  we  all  pay  him,  though  he  never  asks 
for  anything." 

"Oh,  Paris!  Paris!"  cried  Gazonal. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  you  now,  cousin  Gazonal,"  said 
Bixiou,  after  indorsing  the  notes,  "to  see  another 
comedian,  who  will  play  you  a  charming  scene  gratis." 

"  Who  is  it?  "  said  Gazonal. 

"  A  usurer.  As  we  go  along  I  '11  tell  you  the  debut 
of  friend  Ravenouillet  in  Paris." 

Passing    in    front  of   the   porter's  lodge,    Gazonal 


228  Unconscious   Comedians. 

saw  Mademoiselle  Lucierme  Ravenouillet  holding  in 
her  hand  a  music  score  (she  was  a  pupil  of  the  Con- 
servatoire), her  father  reading  a  newspaper,  and 
Madame  Ravenouillet  with  a  package  of  letters  to  be 
carried  up  to  the  lodgers. 

"  Thanks,  Monsieur  Bixiou!  "  said  the  girl. 

"She's  not  a  rat,"  explained  Leon  to  his  cousin; 
"  she  is  the  larva  of  the  grasshopper." 

"Here's  the  history  of  Ravenouillet,"  continued 
Bixiou,  when  the  three  friends  reached  the  boulevard. 
"In  1831  Massol,  the  councillor  of  state  who  is  deal- 
ing with  your  case,  was  a  lawyer-journalist  who  at 
that  time  never  thought  of  being  more  than  Keeper  of 
the  Seals,  and  deigned  to  leave  King  Louis-Philippe 
on  his  throne.  Forgive  his  ambition,  he  's  from  Car- 
cassonne. One  morning  there  entered  to  him  a  young 
rustic  of  his  parts,  who  said:  '  You  know  me  very  well, 
Mossoo  Massol;  I'm  your  neighbor  the  grocer's  little 
boy;  I  've  come  from  clown  there,  for  they  tell  me  a 
fellow  is  certain  to  get  a  place  if  he  comes  to  Paris. ' 
Hearing  these  words,  Massol  shuddered,  and  said  to 
himself  that  if  he  were  weak  enough  to  help  this  com- 
patriot (to  him  utterly  unknown)  he  should  have  the 
whole  department  prone  upon  him,  his  bell-rope  would 
break,  his  valet  leave  him,  he  should  have  difficulties 
with  his  landlord  about  the  stairway,  and  the  other 
lodgers   would   assuredly   complain   of   the   smell   of 


Unconscious    Comedians.  229 

garlic  pervading  the  bouse.  Consequently,  he  looked 
at  his  visitor  as  a  butcher  looks  at  a  sheep  whose 
throat  he  intends  to  cut.  But  whether  the  rustic  com- 
prehended the  stab  of  that  glance  or  not,  he  went  on 
to  say  (so  Massol  told  rne),  '  I  've  as  much  ambition  as 
other  men.  I  will  never  go  back  to  my  native  place, 
if  I  ever  do  go  back,  unless  I  am  a  rich  man.  Paris 
is  the  antechamber  of  Paradise.  They  tell  me  that 
you  who  write  the  newspapers  can  make,  as  they  say, 
"fine  weather  and  foul;"  that  is,  you  have  things  all 
your  own  way,  and  it 's  enough  to  ask  your  help  to 
get  any  place,  no  matter  what,  under  government. 
Now,  though  I  have  faculties,  like  others,  I  know 
myself:  I  have  no  education;  I  don't  know  how  to 
write,  and  that 's  a  misfortune,  for  I  have  ideas.  I 
am  not  seeking,  therefore,  to  be  your  rival ;  I  judge 
myself,  and  I  know  I  could  n't  succeed  there.  But, 
as  you  are  so  powerful,  and  as  we  are  almost  brothers, 
having  played  together  in  childhood,  I  count  upon  you 
to  launch  me  in  a  career  and  to  protect  me  —  Oh, 
you  must;  I  want  a  place;  a  place  suitable  to  my 
capacit}T,  to  such  as  I  am,  a  place  where  I  can  make 
my  fortune.'  Massol  was  just  about  to  put  his  com- 
patriot neck  and  crop  out  of  the  door  with  some 
brutal  speech,  when  the  rustic  ended  his  appeal  thus : 
1 1  don't  ask  to  enter  the  administration  where  people 
advance  like  tortoises  —  there  's  your  cousin,  who  has 


230  Unconscious  Comedians. 

stuck  in  one  post  for  twenty  years.  No,  I  only  want 
to  make  my  debut. ' — 'On  the  stage?'  asked  Massol 
only  too  happy  at  that  conclusion.  —  '  No ;  though  I 
have  gesture  enough,  and  figure,  and  memory.  But 
there  's  too  much  wear  and  tear;  I  prefer  the  career  of 
porter.'  Massol  kept  his  couutenance,  and  replied: 
'  I  think  there  's  more  wear  and  tear  in  that,  but  as 
your  choice  is  made  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do; '  and  he 
got  him,  as  Ravenouillet  says,  his  first  cordon." 

"  I  was  the  first  master,"  said  Leon,  "  to  consider 
the  race  of  porter.  You  '11  find  knaves  of  morality, 
mountebanks  of  vanity,  modern  sycophants,  septem- 
briseurs,  disguised  in  philanthropy,  inventors  of  palpi- 
tating questions,  preaching  the  emancipation  of  the 
negroes,  improvement  of  little  thieves,  benevolence  to 
liberated  convicts,  and  who,  nevertheless,  leave  their 
porters  in  a  condition  worse  than  that  of  the  Irish,  in 
holes  more  dreadful  than  a  mud  cabin,  and  pay  them 
less  money  to  live  on  than  the  State  pays  to  support  a 
convict.  T  have  done  but  one  good  action  in  my  life, 
and  that  was  to  build  my  porter  a  decent  lodge." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bixiou,  "if  a  man,  having  built  a  great 
cage  divided  into  thousands  of  compartments  like 
the  cells  of  a  beehive  or  the  dens  of  a  meuagerie,  con- 
structed to  receive  human  beings  of  all  trades  and  all 
kinds,  if  that  animal,  calling  itself  the  proprietor, 
should  go  to  a  man  of  science  and  say :  '  I  want  an 


Unconscious   Comedians.  231 

individual  of  the  bimanous  species,  able  to  live  in 
boles  full  of  old  boots,  pestiferous  with  rags,  and  ten 
feet  square :  I  want  him  such  that  he  can  live  there  all 
his  life,  sleep  there,  eat  there,  be  happy,  get  children 
as  pretty  as  little  cupids,  work,  toil,  cultivate  flowers, 
sing  there,  stay  there,  and  live  in  darkness  but  see 
and  know  everything,'  most  assuredly  the  man  of 
science  could  never  have  invented  the  porter  to  oblige 
the  proprietor;  Paris,  and  Paris  only  could  create 
him,  or,  if  you  choose,  the  devil." 

"Parisian  creative  powers  have  gone  farther  than 
that,"  said  Gazonal;  "  look  at  the  workmen!  Tou 
don't  know  all  the  products  of  industry,  though  you 
exhibit  them.  Our  toilers  fight  against  the  toilers  of 
the  continent  by  force  of  misery,  as  Napoleon  fought 
Europe  by  force  of  regiments." 

"Here  we  are,  at  my  friend  the  usurer's,"  said 
Bixiou.  "  His  name  is  Vauvinet.  One  of  the  greatest 
mistakes  made  by  writers  who  describe  our  manners 
and  morals  is  to  harp  on  old  portraits.  In  these  days 
all  trades  change.  The  grocer  becomes  a  peer  of 
France,  artists  capitalize  their  money,  vaudevillists 
have  incomes.  A  few  rare  beings  may  remain  what 
they  originally  were,  but  professions  in  general  have 
no  longer  either  their  special  costume  or  their  formerly 
fixed  habits  and  ways.  In  the  past  we  had  Gobseck, 
Gigonnet,  Samonon, —  the  last  of  the  Romans;  to-day 


232  Unconscious   Comedians. 

we  rejoice  in  Vauvinet,  the  good-fellow  usurer,  the 
dandy  who  frequents  the  greenroom  and  the  lorettes, 
and  drives  about  in  a  little  coupe  with  one  horse. 
Take  special  note  of  my  man,  friend  Gazonal,  and 
you  '11  see  the  comedy  of  money,  the  cold  man  who 
won't  give  a  penny,  the  hot  man  who  snuffs  a  profit; 
listen  to  him  attentively !  " 

All  three  went  up  to  the  second  floor  of  a  fine-look- 
ing house  on  the  boulevard  des  Italiens,  where  they 
found  themselves  surrounded  by  the  elegances  then 
in  fashion.  A  young  man  about  twenty-eight  years 
of  as;e  advanced  to  meet  them  with  a  smilino-  face,  for 
he  saw  Leon  de  Lora  first.  Vauvinet  held  out  his 
hand  with  apparent  friendliness  to  Bixiou,  and  bowed 
coldly  to  Gazonal  as  he  motioned  them  to  enter  his 
office,  where  bourgeois  taste  was  visible  beneath  the 
artistic  appearance  of  the  furniture,  and  in  spite  of 
the  statuettes  and  the  thousand  other  little  trifles 
applied  to  our  little  apartments  by  modern  art,  which 
has  made  itself  as  small  as  its  patrons. 

Vauvinet  was  dressed,  like  other  young  men  of  our 
day  who  go  into  business,  with  extreme  elegance, 
which  many  of  them  regard  as  a  species  of  prospectus. 

"I've  come  for  some  money,"  said  Bixiou,  laugh- 
ing, and  presenting  his  notes. 

Vauvinet  assumed  a  serious  air,  which  made 
Gazonal  smile,  such  difference  was  there  between  the 


u 
It 


Unconscious   Comedians.  233 

smiling   visage   that   received    them    and    the   coun- 
tenance of  the  money-lender  recalled  to  business. 

My  dear  fellow,"  said  Vauvinet,  looking  at  Bixiou, 

I  should  certainly  oblige  you  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  but  I  have  n't  any  money  to  loan  at  the 
present  time.  " 

"Ah,  bah!" 

"No;  I  have  given  all  I  had  to  —  you  know  who. 
That  poor  Lousteau  went  into  partnership  for  the 
management  of  a  theatre  with  an  old  vaudevillist  who 
has  great  influence  with  the  ministry,  Ridal ;  and  they 
came  to  me  yesterday  for  thirty  thousand  francs. 
I  'm  cleaned  out,  and  so  completely  that  I  was  just 
in  the  act  of  sending  to  Cerizet  for  a  hundred  louis, 
which  I  lost  at  lansquenet  this  morning,  at  Jenny 
Cadine's." 

u  You  must  indeed  be  hard-up  if  you  can't  oblige 
this  poor  Bixiou,"  said  Leon  de  Lora;  "  for  he  can  be 
very  sharp-tongued  when  he  has  n't  a  sou." 

"  Well,"  said  Bixiou,  "  I  never  could  say  anything 
but  good  of  Vauvinet;  he  's  full  of  goods." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Vauvinet,  "if  I  had  the 
money,  I  could  n't  possibly  discount,  even  at  fifty 
per  cent,  notes  which  are  drawn  by  your  porter. 
Ravenouillet's  paper  is  n't  in  demand.  He  's  not  a 
Rothschild.  I  warn  you  that  his  notes  are  worn  thin ; 
you  had  better  invent  another  firm.     Find  an   uncle. 


234  Unconscious  Comedians. 


As  for  a  friend  who  '11  sign  notes  for  us  there  's  no 
such  being  to  be  found ;  the  matter-of-f actness  of  the 
present  age  is  making  awful  progress." 

"  I  have  a  friend,"  said  Bixiou,  motioning  to  Leon's 
cousin.  "Monsieur  here;  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished manufacturers  of  cloth  in  the  South,  named 
Gazonal.  His  hair  is  not  very  well  dressed,"  added 
Bixiou,  looking  at  the  touzled  and  luxuriant  crop  on 
the  provincial's  head,  "but  I  am  going  to  take  him  to 
Marius,  who  will  make  him  look  less  like  a  poodle- 
dog,   an  appearance  so  injurious  to  his  credit,  and  to 


ours." 


"  I  don't  believe  in  Southern  securities,  be  it  said 
without  offence  to  monsieur,"  replied  Vauvinet,  with 
whom  Gazonal  was  so  entertained  that  he  did  not 
resent  his  insolence. 

Gazonal,  that  extremely  penetrating  intellect,  thought 
that  the  painter  and  Bixiou  intended,  by  way  of  teach- 
ing him  to  know  Paris,  to  make  him  pay  the  thousand 
francs  for  his  breakfast  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  for  this 
son  of  the  Pyrenees  had  never  got  out  of  that  armor 
of  distrust  which  incloses  the  provincial  in  Paris. 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  to  have  outstanding  busi- 
ness at  seven  hundred  miles  from  Paris?"  added 
Vauvinet. 

"  Then  you  refuse  me  positively?  "  asked  Bixiou. 

"  I  have  twenty  francs,  and  no  more,"  said  the 
young  usurer. 


Unconscious   Comedians.  235 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,"  said  the  joker.  "I  thought 
I  was  worth  a  thousand  francs." 

"You  are  worth  two  hundred  thousand  francs," 
replied  Vauvinet,  "  and  sometimes  you  are  worth  your 
weight  in  gold,  or  at  least  your  tongue  is;  but  I  tell 
you  I  have  n't  a  penny." 

"Very  good,"  replied  Bixiou;  "then  we  won't  say 
anything  more  about  it.  I  had  arranged  for  this 
evening,  at  Carabine's,  the  thing  you  most  wanted  — 
you  know  ?  " 

Vauvinet  winked  an  eye  at  Bixiou;  the  wink  that 
two  jockeys  give  each  other  when  they  want  to  say: 
"  Don't  try  trickery." 

"Don't  you  remember  catching  me  round  the  waist 
as  if  I  were  a  pretty  woman,"  said  Bixiou,  "and 
coaxing  me  with  look  and  speech,  and  saying,  '  I  '11  do 
anything  for  you  if  you  '11  only  get  me  shares  at  par 
in  that  railroad  du  Tillet  and  Nucingen  have  made  an 
offer  for?  '  Well,  old  fellow,  du  Tillet  and  Nucingen 
are  coming  to  Carabine's  to-night,  where  they  will 
meet  a  number  of  political  characters.  You  've  lost 
a  fine  opportunity.     Good-b}^e  to  you,  old  carrot." 

Bixiou  rose,  leaving  Vauvinet  apparently  indiffer- 
ent, but  inwardly  annoyed  by  the  sense  that  he  had 
committed  a  folly. 

"  One  moment,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  rnone}7- 
lender.      ''Though  I  have  n't  the  money,  I  have  credit. 


236  Unconscious   Comedians. 

If  your  notes  are  worth  nothing,  I  can  keep  them  and 
give  you  notes  in  exchange.  If  we  can  come  to  an 
agreement  about  that  railway  stock  we  could  share  the 
profits,  of  course  in  due  proportion  and  I  '11  allow 
you  that  on  —  " 

"No,  no,"  said  Bixiou,  "I  want  money  in  hand, 
and  I  must  get  those  notes  of  Ravenouillet's  cashed." 

" Ravenouillet  is  sound,"  said  Vauvinet.  "He  puts 
money  into  the  savings-bank;  he  is  good  security." 

"  Better  than  you,"  interposed  Leon,  "  for  he  does  n't 
stipend  lorettes;  he  hasn't  any  rent  to  pay;  and  he 
never  rushes  into  speculations  which  keep  him  dread- 
ins:  either  a  rise  or  fall." 

"You  think  you  can  laugh  at  me,  great  man," 
returned  Vauvinet,  once  more  jovial  and  caressing; 
"you  've  turned  La  Fontaine's  fable  of  'Le  Chene  et 
le  Roseau  '  into  an  elixir  —  Come,  Gubetta,  my  old 
accomplice,"  he  continued,  seizing  Bixiou  round  the 
waist,  "  you  want  money;  well,  I  can  borrow  three 
thousand  francs  from  my  friend  Cerizet  instead  of 
two ;  '"  Let  us  be  friends,  Cinna !  '  hand  over  your 
colossal  cabbages,  —  made  to  trick  the  public  like  a 
gardener' ss  catalogue.  If  I  refused  you  it  was  because 
it  is  pretty  hard  on  a  man  who  can  only  do  his  poor 
little  business  by  turning  over  his  money,  to  have  to 
keep  your  Ravenouillet  notes  in  the  drawer  of  his 
desk.     Hard,  hard,  very  hard !  " 


Unconscious   Comedians.  237 

"  "What  discount  do  you  want?  "  asked  Bixiou. 

"Next  to  nothing,"  returned  Vauvinet.  "It  will 
cost  you  a  miserable  fifty  francs  at  the  end  of  the 
quarter." 

"As  Ernile  Blondet  used  to  say,  you  shall  be  my 
benefactor,"  replied  Bixiou. 

"Twenty  per  cent!  "  whispered  Gazonal  to  Bixiou, 
who  replied  by  a  punch  of  his  elbow  in  the  provincial's 
oesophagus. 

"Bless  me!"  said  Vauvinet  opening  a  drawer  in 
his  desk  as  if  to  put  away  the  Kavenouillet  notes, 
"  here  's  an  old  bill  of  five  hundred  francs  stuck  in  the 
drawer!  I  didn't  know  I  was  so  rich.  And  here's 
a  note  payable  at  the  end  of  the  month  for  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty;  Cerizet  will  take  it  without  much 
diminution,  and  there  's  your  sum  in  hand.  But  no 
nonsense,  Bixiou!  Hein?  to-night,  at  Carabine's, 
will  you  swear  to  me  —  " 

"Haven't  we  re-friended?"  said  Bixiou,  pocketing 
the  five-hundred-franc  bill  and  the  note  for  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty.  "I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that 
you  shall  see  du  Tillet,  and  many  other  men  who 
want  to  make  their  way  —  their  railway  —  to-night  at 
Carabine's." 

Vauvinet  conducted  the  three  friends  to  the  landing 
of  the  staircase,  cajoling  Bixiou  on  the  way.  Bixiou 
kept  a  grave  face  till  he  reached  the  outer  door,  listen- 


238  Unconscious   Comedians. 

ing  to  Gazonal,  who  tried  to  enlighten  him  on  his  late 
operation,  and  to  prove  to  him  that  if  Vauvinet's  fol- 
lower, Cerizet,  took  another  twenty  francs  out  of  his 
four  hundred  and  fifty,  he  was  getting  money  at  forty 
per  cent. 

When  they  reached  the  asphalt  Bixiou  frightened 
Gazonal  by  the  laugh  of  a  Parisian  hoaxer,  —  that 
cold,  mute  laugh,   a  sort  of  labial  north  wind. 

"  The  assignment  of  the  contract  for  that  railway  is 
adjourned,  positively,  by  the  Chamber;  I  heard  this 
yesterday  from  that  marcheuse  whom  we  smiled  at 
just  now.  If  I  win  five  or  six  thousand  francs  at 
lansquenet  to-night,  why  should  I  grudge  sixty-five 
francs  for  the  power  to  stake,  hey?" 

"  Lansquenet  is  another  of  the  thousand  facets  of 
Paris  as  it  is,"  said  Leon.  "And  therefore,  cousin, 
I  intend  to  present  you  to-night  in  the  salon  of  a 
duchess,  — a  duchess  of  the  rue  Saint-Georges,  where 
you  will  see  the  aristocracy  of  the  lorettes,  and  prob- 
ably be  able  to  win  your  lawsuit.  But  it  is  quite 
impossible  to  present  you  anywhere  with  that  mop  of 
Pyrenean  hair;  you  look  like  a  porcupine;  and  there- 
fore we  '11  take  you  close  by,  Place  de  la  Bourse,  to 
Marius,  another  of  our  comedians  —  " 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  his  tale,"  said  Bixiou.  "  In  the  year 
1800  a  Toulousian  named  Cabot,  a  young  wig-maker 


Unconscious   Comedians.  239 

devoured  by  ambition,  came  to  Paris,  and  set  up  a 
shop  (I  use  your  slang).  This  man  of  genius,  —  he 
now  has  an  income  of  twenty-four  thousand  francs  a 
year,  and  lives,  retired  from  business,  at  Libourne,  — 
well,  he  saw  that  so  vulgar  and  ignoble  a  name  as 
Cabot  could  never  attain  celebrity.  Monsieur  de 
Parny,  whose  hair  he  cut,  gave  him  the  name  of 
Marius,  infinitely  superior,  you  perceive,  to  the  Chris- 
tian names  of  Armand  and  Hippolyte,  behind  which 
patronymics  attacked  by  the  Cabot  evil  are  wont  to 
hide.  All  the  successors  of  Cabot  have  called  them- 
selves Marius.  The  present  Marius  is  Marius  V. ; 
his  real  name  is  Mongin.  This  occurs  in  various 
other  trades ;  for  '  Botot  water, '  and  for  '  Little- 
Virtue  '  ink.  Names  become  commercial  property  in 
Paris,  and  have  ended  by  constituting  a  sort  of  eusign 
of  nobility.  The  present  Marius,  who  takes  pupils, 
has  created,  he  says,  the  leading  school  of  hair-dressing 
in  the  world." 

"I've  seen,  in  coming  through  France,"  said 
Gazonal,  "a  great  many  signs  bearing  the  words: 
'  Such  a  one,  pupil  of  Marius.'  " 

"His  pupils  have  to  wash  their  hands  after  every 
head,"  said  Bixiou;  "but  Marius  does  not  take  them 
indifferently;  they  must  have  nice  hands,  and  not  be 
ill-looking.  The  most  remarkable  for  manners,  ap- 
pearance, and  elocution  are  sent  out  to  dress  heads; 


240  Unconscious  Comedians. 

and  they  come  back  tired  to  death.  Marius  himself 
never  turns  out  except  for  titled  women ;  he  drives  his 
cabriolet  and  has  a  groom." 

"  But,  after  all,  he  is  nothing  but  a  barber!  "  cried 
Gazonal,  somewhat  shocked. 

"Barber!"  exclaimed  Bixiou;  "please  remember 
that  he  is  captain  in  the  National  Guard,  and  is  deco- 
rated for  being  the  first  to  spring  into  a  barricade  in 
1832." 

"And  take  care  what  you  say  to  him:  he  is  neither 
barber,  hair-dresser,  nor  wig-maker;  he  is  a  director 
of  salons  for  hair-dressing,"  said  Leon,  as  they  went 
up  a  staircase  with  crystal  balusters  and  mahogany 
rail,  the  steps  of  which  were  covered  with  a  sumptuous 
carpet. 

"Ah  ga !  mind  you  don't  compromise  us,"  said 
Bixiou.  "In  the  antechamber  you'll  see  lacqueys 
who  will  take  off  your  coat,  and  seize  your  hat,  to 
brush  them;  and  they'll  accompany  you  to  the  door 
of  the  salons  to  open  and  shut  it.  I  mention  this, 
friend  Gazonal,"  added  Bixiou,  slyly,  "lest  you 
might  think  they  were  after  your  property,  and  cry 
4  Stop  thief !  '  " 

"These  salons,"  said  Leon,  "are  three  boudoirs 
where  the  director  has  collected  all  the  inventions  of 
modern  luxury:  lambrequins  to  the  windows,   jardi- 

* 

nieres  everywhere,  downy  divans  where  each  customer 


Unconscious   Comedians.  241 

can  wait  his  turn  and  read  the  newspapers.  You 
might  suppose,  when  you' first  go  in,  that  five  francs 
would  be  the  least  they  'd  get  out  of  your  waistcoat 
pocket;  but  nothing  is  ever  extracted  beyond  ten  sous 
for  combing  and  frizzing  your  hair,  or  twenty  sous 
for  cutting  and  frizzing.  Elegant  dressing-tables 
stand  about  among  the  jardinieres;  water  is  laid  on  to 
the  washstands;  enormous  mirrors  reproduce  the  whole 
figure.  Therefore  don't  look  astonished.  When  the 
client  (that 's  the  elegant  word  substituted  by  Marius 
for  the  ignoble  word  customer), — when  the  client 
appears  at  the  door,  Marius  gives  him  a  glance  which 
appraises  him:  to  Marius  you  are  a  head,  more  or  less 
susceptible  of  occupying  his  mind.  To  him  there  's 
no  mankind;  there  are  only  heads." 

"We  let  you  hear  Marius  on  all  the  notes  of  his 
scale,"  said  Bixiou,  "and  you  know  how  to  follow 
our  lead." 

As  soon  as  Gazonal  showed  himself,  the  glance  was 
given,  and  was  evidently  favorable,  for  Marius 
exclaimed:  "Regulus!  yours  this  head!  Prepare  it 
first  with  the  little  scissors." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Gazonal  to  the  pupil,  at  a  sign 
from  Bixiou.  "I  prefer  to  have  my  head  dressed  by 
Monsieur  Marius  himself." 

Marius,  much  flattered  by  this  demand,  advanced, 
leaving  the  head  on  which  he  was  engaged. 

16 


242  Unconscious   Comedians. 


a- 


'I  am  with  you  in  a  moment;  I  am  just  finishing. 
Pray  have  no  uneasiness,  my  pupil  will  prepare  you; 
I  alone  will  decide  the  cut." 

Marius,  a  slim  little  man,  his  hair  frizzed  like  that 
of  Rubini,  and  jet  black,  dressed  also  in  black,  with 
long  white  cuffs,  and  the  frill  of  his  shirt  adorned 
with  a  diamond,  now  saw  Bixiou,  to  whom  he  bowed 
as  to  a  power  the  equal  of  his  own. 

"That  is  only  an  ordinary  head,"  he  said  to  Leon, 
pointing  to  the  person  on  whom  he  was  operating, —  "a 
grocer,  or  something  of  that  kind.  But  if  we  devoted 
ourselves  to  art  only,  we  should  die  in  Bicetre,  mad!  " 
and  he  turned  back  with  an  inimitable  gesture  to  his 
client,  after  saying  to  Regulus,  "Prepare  monsieur, 
he  is  evidently  an  artist." 

"A  journalist,"  said  Bixiou. 

Hearing  that  word,  Marius  gave  two  or  three  strokes 
of  the  comb  to  the  ordinary  head  and  flung  himself 
upon  Gazonal,  taking  Regulus  by  the  arm  at  the  instant 
that  the  pupil  was  about  to  begin  the  operation  of  the 
little  scissors. 

"I  will  take  charge  of  monsieur.  Look,  monsieur," 
he  said  to  the  grocer,  "reflect  yourself  in  the  great 
mirror  —  if  the  mirror  permits.     Ossian !  " 

A  lacquey  entered,  and  took  hold  of  the  client  to 
dress  him. 

;You   pay  at   the   desk,    monsieur,"   said   Marius 


uv. 


Unconscious   Comedians.  243 

to   the   stupefied   grocer,    who   was    pulling   out    his 
purse. 

"Is  there  any  use,  rny  dear  fellow,"  said  Bixiou,  "in 
going  through  this  operation  of  the  little  scissors?  " 

"No  head  ever  comes  to  me  unclean sed,"  replied 
the  illustrious  hair-dresser;  "but  for  your  sake,  I  will 
do  that  of  monsieur  myself,  wholly.  My  pupils  sketch 
out  the  scheme,  or  my  strength  would  not  hold  out. 
Every  one  says  as  you  do:  'Dressed  by  Marius! ' 
Therefore,  I  can  give  only  the  finishing  strokes. 
What  journal  is  monsieur  on?" 

"If  I  were  you,  I  should  keep  three  or  four 
Mariuses,"  said  Gazonal. 

"Ah!  monsieur,  I  see,  is  a  feuilletonist,"  said 
Marius.  "Alas!  in  dressing  heads  which  expose  us 
to  notice  it  is  impossible.     Excuse  me!" 

He  left  Gazonal  to  overlook  Regulus,  who  was  "  pre- 
paring "  a  newly  arrived  head.  Tapping  his  tongue 
against  his  palate,  he  made  a  disapproving«noise,  which 
may  perhaps  be  written  down  as  "titt,  titt,  titt." 

"There,  there!  good  heavens!  that  cut  is  not 
square;  your  scissors  are  hacking  it.  Here!  see 
there!  Regulus,  you  are  not  clipping  poodles;  these 
are  men  —  who  have  a  character;  if  you  continue  to 
look  at  the  ceiling  instead  of  looking  only  between  the 
glass  and  the  head,  you  will  dishonor  my  house." 

"You  are  stern,  Monsieur  Marius." 


244  Unconscious   Comedians. 

"I  owe  them  the  secrets  of  my  art." 

"Then  it  is  an  art?  "  said  Gazonal. 

Marius,  affronted,  looked  at  Gazonal  in  the  glass, 
and  stopped  short,  the  scissors  in  one  hand,  the  comb 
in  the  other. 

"Monsieur,  yon  speak  like  a  —  child!  and  yet,  from 
your  accent,  I  judge  you  are  from  the  South,  the  birth- 
place of  men  of  genius." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  hair-dressing  requires  some 
taste,"  replied  Gazonal. 

44 Hush,  monsieur,  hush!  I  expected  better  things 
of  you.  Let  me  tell  you  that  a  hair-dresser, —  I  don't 
say  a  good  hair-dresser,  for  a  man  is,  or  he  is  not,  a 
hair-dresser,  —  a  hair-dresser,  I  repeat,  is  more  diffi- 
cult to  find  than  —  what  shall  I  say?  than  —  I  don't 
know  what  —  a  minister?  —  (Sit  still!)  No,  for  you 
can't  judge  by  ministers,  the  streets  are  full  of  them. 
A  Paganini?  No,  he's  not  great  enough.  A  hair- 
dresser, monsieur,  a  man  who  divines  your  soul  and 
your  habits,  in  order  to  dress  your  hair  conformably 
with  your  being,  that  man  has  all  that  constitutes  a 
philosopher  —  and  such  he  is.  See  the  women! 
Women  appreciate  us;  they  know  our  value;  our  value 
to  them  is  the  conquest  they  make  when  they  have 
placed  their  heads  in  our  hands  to  attain  a  triumph. 
I  say  to  you  that  a  hair-dresser  —  the  world  does  not 
know   what  he  is.     I  who  speak  to  you,  I  am  very 


Unconscious   Comedians.  245 

nearly  all  that  there  is  of  —  without  boasting  I  may  say 
I  am  known  —  Still,  I  think  more  might  be  done  —  The 
execution,  that  is  everything!  Ah!  if  women  would 
onW  give  me  carte  blanche!  ■ —  if  I  might  only  execute 
the  ideas  that  come  to  me !  I  have,  you  see,  a  hell  of 
imagination!  —  but  the  women  don't  fall  in  with  it; 
they  have  their  own  plaus;  they  '11  stick  their  fingers 
or  combs,  as  soon  as  my  back  is  turned,  through  the 
most  delicious  edifices  —  which  ought  to  be  engraved 
and  perpetuated;  for  our  works,  monsieur,  last  unfor- 
tunately but  a  few  hours.  A  great  hair-dresser,  hey! 
he  's  like  Careme  and  Vestris  in  their  careers.  (Head 
a  little  this  way,  if  you  please,  so;  I  attend  particu- 
larly to  front  faces!)  Our  profession  is  ruined  by 
bunglers  who  understand  neither  the  epoch  nor  their 
art.  There  are  dealers  in  wigs  and  essences  who  are 
enough  to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end;  they  care 
only  to  sell  you  bottles.  It  is  pitiable  !  But  that 's 
business.  Such  poor  wretches  cut  hair  and  dress  it  as 
they  can.  I,  when  I  arrived  in  Paris  from  Toulouse, 
my  ambition  was  to  succeed  the  great  Marius,  to  be 
a  true  Marius,  to  make  that  name  illustrious.  I 
alone,  more  than  all  the  four  others,  I  said  to  myself, 
*  I  will  conquer,  or  die.'  (There!  now  sit  straight,  I 
am  going  to  finish  you.)  I  was  the  first  to  introduce 
elegance  ;  I  made  my  salons  the  object  of  curiosity.  I 
disdain   advertisements;   what   advertisements  would 


246  Unconscious   Comedians. 

have  cost,  monsieur,  I  put  into  elegance,  charm,  com- 
fort. Next  year  I  shall  have  a  quartette  in  one  of  the 
salons  to  discourse  music,  and  of  the  best.  Yes,  we 
ought  to  charm  away  the  ennui  of  those  whose  heads 
we  dress.  I  do  not  conceal  from  myself  the  annoy- 
ances to  a  client.  (Look  at  yourself  !)  To  have  one's 
hair  dressed  is  fatiguing,  perhaps  as  much  so  as  pos- 
ing for  one's  portrait.  Monsieur  knows  perhaps  that 
the  famous  Monsieur  Humboldt  (I  did  the  best  I 
could  with  the  few  hairs  America  left  him  —  science 
has  this  in  common  with  savages,  that  she  scalps  her 
men  clean),  that  illustrious  savant,  said  that  next  to 
the  suffering  of  going  to  be  hanged  was  that  of  going 
to  be  painted;  but  I  place  the  trial  of  having  your 
head  dressed  before  that  of  being  painted,  and  so  do 
certain  women.  Well,  monsieur,  my  object  is  to 
make  those  who  come  here  to  have  their  hair  cut 
or  frizzed  enjoy  themselves.  (Hold  still,  you  have  a 
tuft  which  must  be  conquered.)  A  Jew  proposed  to 
supply  me  with  Italian  cantatrices  who,  during  the  in- 
terludes, were  to  depilate  the  young  men  of  forty ;  but 
they  proved  to  be  girls  from  the  Conservatoire,  and 
music-teachers  from  the  Rue  Montmartre.  There 
you  are,  monsieur;  your  head  is  dressed  as  that  of  a 
man  of  talent  ousjht  to  be.  Ossian,"  he  said  to  the 
lacquey  in  livery,  "dress  monsieur  and  show  him  out. 
Whose  turn  next?"  he  added  proudly,  gazing  round 
upon  the  persons  who  awaited  him. 


Unconscious   Comedians.  247 

"Don't  laugh,  Gazonal,"  said  Leon  as  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  staircase,  whence  his  eye  could  take  in 
the  whole  of  the  Place  de  la  Bourse.  "I  see  over 
there  one  of  our  great  men,  and  you  shall  compare  his 
language  with  that  of  the  barber,  and  tell  me  which  of 
the  two  you  think  the  most  original." 

"Don't  laugh,  Gazonal,"  said  Bixiou,  mimicking 
Leon's  intonation.  "What  do  you  suppose  is 
Marius's  business?  " 

"Hair-dressing." 

7° 

"He  has  obtained  a  monopoly  of  the  sale  of  hair  in 
bulk,  as  a  certain  dealer  in  comestibles  who  is  going 
to  sell  us  a  pate  for  three  francs  has  acquired  a  mon- 
opoly of  the  sale  of  truffles;  he  discounts  the  paper  of 
that  business;  he  loans  money  on  pawn  to  clients  when 
embarrassed;  he  gives  annuities  on  lives;  he  gambles 
at  the  Bourse;  he  is  a  stockholder  in  all  the  fashion 
papers;  and  he  sells,  under  the  name  of  a  certain 
chemist,  an  infamous  drug  which,  for  his  share  alone, 
gives  him  an  income  of  thirty  thousand  francs,  and 
costs  in  advertisements  a  hundred  thousand  yearly." 

"Is  it  possible!  "  cried  Gazonal. 

"Remember  this,"  said  Bixiou,  gravely..  "In  Paris 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  small  business ;  all  things 
swell  to  large  proportions,  down  to  the  sale  of  rags 
and  matches.  The  lemonade-seller  who,  with  his 
napkin    under  his  arm,   meets  you  as  you    enter   his 


248  Unconscious   Comedians. 

shop,  may  be  worth  his  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year; 
the  waiter  in  a  restaurant  is  eligible  for  the  Chamber; 
the  man  you  take  for  a  beggar  in  the  street  carries  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  worth  of  unset  diamonds  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  didn't  steal  them  either." 

The  three  inseparables  (for  one  day  at  any  rate) 
now  crossed  the  Place  de  la  Bourse  in  a  way  to  inter- 
cept a  man  about  forty  years  of  age,  wearing  the 
Legion  of  honor,  who  was  coming  from  the  boulevard 
by  way  of  the  rue  Neuve-Vivienne. 

"Hey  !  "  said  Leon,  "what  are  you  pondering  over, 
my  dear  Dubourdieu?  Some  fine  symbolic  composi- 
tion? My  dear  cousin,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  present 
to  you  our  illustrious  painter  Dubourdieu,  not  less 
celebrated  for  his  humanitarian  convictions  than  for 
his  talents  in  art.     Dubourdieu,  my  cousin  Palafox." 

Dubourdieu,  a  small,  pale  man  with  melancholy  blue 
eyes,  bowed  slightly  to  Gazonal,  who  bent  low  as 
before  a  man  of  genius. 

"So  you  have  elected  Stidmann  in  place  of  —  "  he 
beoan. 

"How  could  I  help  it?  I  wasn't  there,"  replied 
Lora. 

"You  bring  the  Academy  into  disrepute,"  continued 
the  painter.  "To  choose  such  a  man  as  that !  I  don't 
wish  to  say  ill  of  him,  but  he  works  at  a  trade. 
Where  are  you  dragging  the  first  of  arts, —  the  art  whose 


Unconscious   Comedians.  249 

works  are  the  most  lasting;  bringing  nations  to  light 
of  which  the  world  ha's  long  lost  even  the  memory ;  an 
art  which  crowns  and  consecrates  great  men?  Yes, 
sculpture  is  priesthood;  it  preserves  the  ideas  of  an 
epoch,  and  you  give  its  chair  to  a  maker  of  toys  and 
mantelpieces,  an  ornamentationist,  a  seller  of  bric-a- 
brac  !  Ah !  as  Chamfort  said,  one  has  to  swallow  a 
viper  every  morning  to  endure  the  life  of  Paris.  Well, 
at  any  rate,  Art  remains  to  a  few  of  us;  they  can't 
prevent  us  from  cultivating  it  —  " 

"And  besides,  my  dear  fellow,  you  have  a  consola- 
tion which  few  artists  possess;  the  future  is  yours," 
said  Bixiou.  "When  the  world  is  converted  to  our 
doctrine,  you  will  be  at  the  head  of  your  art;  for  you 
are  putting  into  it  ideas  which  people  will  understand 
—  when  they  are  generalized  !  In  fifty  years  from  now 
you  '11  be  to  all  the  world  what  you  are  to  a  few  of  us 
at  this  moment,  —  a  great  man.  The  only  question  is 
how  to  get  along  till  then." 

"I  have  just  finished,"  resumed  the  great  artist,  his 
face  expanding  like  that  of  a  man  whose  hobby  is 
stroked,  "an  allegorical  figure  of  Harmony;  and  if  you 
ay  ill  come  and  see  it,  you  will  understand  why  it  should 
have  taken  me  two  years  to  paint  it.  Everything  is 
in  it !  At  the  first  glance  one  divines  the  destiny  of 
the  globe.  A  queen  holds  a  shepherd's  crook  in  her 
hand,  —  symbolical  of  the  advancement  of  the  races 


250  Unconscious   Comedians. 

useful  to  mankind;  she  wears  on  her  head  the  cap 
of  Liberty;  her  breasts  are  sixfold,  as  the  Egyptians 
carved  them  —  for  the  Egyptians  foresaw  Fourier; 
her  feet  are  resting  on  two  clasped  hands  which 
embrace  a  globe,  —  symbol  of  the  brotherhood  of  all 
human  races ;  she  tramples  cannon  under  foot  to  sig- 
nify the  abolition  of  war;  and  I  have  tried  to  make  her 
face  express  the  serenity  of  triumphant  agriculture. 
I  have  also  placed  beside  her  an  enormous  curled  cab- 
bage, which,  according  to  our  master,  is  an  image  of 
Harmony.  Ah !  it  is  not  the  least  among  Fourier's 
titles  to  veneration  that  he  has  restored  the  gift  of 
thought  to  plants;  he  has  bound  all  creation  in  one 
by  the  signification  of  things  to  one  another,  and  by 
their  special  language.  A  hundred  years  hence  this 
earth  will  be  much  larger  than  it  is  now." 

"And  how  will  that,  monsieur,  come  to  pass?  "  said 
Gazonal,  stupefied  at  hearing  a  man  outside  of  a 
lunatic  asylum  talk  in  this  way. 

"Through  the  extending  of  production.  If  men  will 
apply  The  System,  it  will  not  be  impossible  to  act 
upon  the  stars.'" 

"What  would  become  of  painting  in  that  case?" 
asked  Gazonal. 

"It  would  be  magnified." 

"Would  our  eyes  be  magnified  too?"  said  Gazonal, 
looking  at  his  two  friends  significantly. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  251 

"Man  will  return  to  what  he  was  before  he  became 
degenerate;  our  six-feet  men  will  then  be  dwarfs." 

"Is  your  picture  finished?  "  asked  Leon. 

"Entirely  finished,"  replied  Dubourdieu.  "I  have 
tried  to  see  Hiclar,  and  get  him  to  compose  a  sym- 
phony for  it;  I  wish  that  while  viewing  my  picture  the 
public  should  hear  music  a  la  Beethoven  to  develop 
its  ideas  and  bring  them  within  range  of  the  intellect 
by  two  arts.  Ah !  if  the  government  would  only  lend 
me  one  of  the  galleries  of  the  Louvre !  " 

"I'll  mention  it,  if  you  want  me  to  do  soc,  you 
should  never  neglect  an  opportunity  to  strike  minds.'' 

"Ah!  my  friends  are  preparing  articles;  but  lam 
afraid  they  '11  go  too  far." 

"Pooh !  "  said  Bixiou,  "they  can't  go  as  far  as  the 
future." 

Dubourdieu  looked  askance  at  Bixiou,  and  continued 
his  way. 

"Why,  he's  mad,"  said  Gazonal;  "he  is  following 
the  moon  in  her  courses." 

"His  skill  is  masterly,"  said  Leon,  "and  he  knows 
his  art,  but  Fourieristn  has  killed  him.  You  have 
just  seen,  cousin,  one  of  the  effects  of  ambition  upon 
artists.  Too  often,  in  Paris,  from  a  desire  to  reach 
more  rapidly  than  by  natural  ways  the  celebrity  which 
to  them  is  fortune,  artists  borrow  the  wings  of  circum- 
stance ;  they  think  they  make  themselves  of  more  im- 


252  Unconscious  Comedians. 

portance  as  men  of  a  specialty,  the  supporters  of  some 
'  system ;  '  and  they  fancy  they  can  transform  a  clique 
into  the  public.  One  is  a  republican,  another  Saint- 
Simonian;  this  one  aristocrat,  that  one  Catholic,  others 
juste-milieu,  middle  ages,  or  German,  as  they  choose 
for  their  purpose.  Now,  though  opinions  do  not  give 
talent,  they  always  spoil  what  talent  there  is ,  and  the 
poor  fellow  whom  you  have  just  seen  is  a  proof 
thereof.  An  artist's  opinion  ought  to  be:  Faith  in  his 
art,  in  his  work ;  and  his  only  way  of  success  is  toil 
when  nature  has  given  him  the  sacred  fire." 

"Let  us  get  away,"  said  Bixiou.  "Leon  is  begin- 
ning; to  moralize." 

"But  that  man  was  sincere,"  said  Gazonal,  still 
stupefied. 

"Perfectly  sincere,"  replied  Bixiou;  "as  sincere  as 
the  king  of  barbers  just  now." 

44 He  is  mad  !  "  repeated  Gazonal. 

"Aud  he  is  not  the  first  man  driven  mad  by  Fourier's 
ideas,"  said  Bixiou.  "You  don't  know  anything 
about  Paris.  Ask  it  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
realize  an  idea  that  will  be  useful  to  humanity,  —  the 
steam-engine  for  instance,  —  and  you  '11  die,  like  Salo- 
mon de  Caux,  at  Bicetre;  but  if  the  money  is  wanted 
for  some  paradoxical  absurdity,  Parisians  will  anni- 
hilate themselves  and  their  fortune  for  it.  It  is  the 
same    with    systems    as    it    is    with    material    things. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  253 

Utterly  impracticable  newspapers  have  consumed  mil- 
lions within  the  last  fifteen  years.  What  makes  your 
lawsuit  so  hard  to  win,  is  that  you  have  right  on  your 
side,  and  on  that  of  the  prefect  there  are  (so  you 
suppose)  secret  motives." 

"Do  you  think  that  a  man  of  intellect  having  once 
understood  the  nature  of  Paris  could  live  elsewhere?" 
said  Leon  to  his  cousin. 

"Suppose  we  take  Gazonal  to  old  Mere  Fontaine?  " 
said  Bixiou,  making  a  sign  to  the  driver  of  a  citadine 
to  draw  up;  "it  will  be  a  step  from  the  real  to  the 
fantastic.     Driver,  Vieille  rue  du  Temple." 

And  all  three  were  presently  rolling  in  the  direction 
of  the  Marais. 

"What  are  you  taking  me  to  see  now?"  asked 
Gazonal. 

"The  proof  of  what  Bixiou  told  you,"  replied  Leon; 
"we  shall  show  you  a  woman  who  makes  twenty 
thousand  francs  a  year  by  working  a  fantastic  idea." 

"A  fortune-teller,"  said  Bixiou,  interpreting  the 
look  of  the  Southerner  as  a  question.  "Madame 
Fontaine  is  thought,  by  those  who  seek  to  pry  into 
the  future,  to  be  wiser  in  her  wisdom  than  Made- 
moiselle Lenormand." 

'She  must  be  very  rich,"  remarked  Gazonal. 

"She  was  the  victim  of  her  own  idea,  as  long  as 
otteries  existed,"  said  Bixiou;  "for  in  Paris  there  are 


254  Unconscious   Comedians. 

no  great  gains  without  corresponding  outlays.  The 
strongest  heads  are  liable  to  crack  there,  as  if  to  give 
vent  to  their  steam.  Those  who  make  much  money 
have  vices  or  fancies,  —  no  doubt  to  establish  an 
equilibrium." 

"And  now  that  the  lottery  is  abolished?"  asked 
Gazonal. 

"Oh!  now  she  has  a  nephew  for  whom  she  is 
hoarding." 

When  they  reached  the  Vieille  rue  du  Temple  the 
three  friends  entered  one  of  the  oldest  houses  in  that 
street  and  passed  up  a  shaking  staircase,  the  steps  of 
which,  caked  with  mud,  led  them  in  semi-darkness, 
and  through  a  stench  peculiar  to  houses  on  an  alley, 
to  the  third  story,  where  they  beheld  a  door  which 
painting  alone  could  render;  literature  would  have  to 
spend  too  many  nights  in  suitably  describing  it. 

An  old  woman,  in  keeping  with  that  door,  and  who 
might  have  been  that  door  in  human  guise,  ushered  the 
three  friends  into  a  room  which  served  as  an  ante- 
chamber, where,  in  spite  of  the  warm  atmosphere 
which  fills  the  streets  of  Paris,  they  felt  the  icy  chill 
of  crypts  about  them.  A  damp  air  came  from  an  inner 
courtyard  which  resembled  a  huge  air-shaft;  the  light 
that  entered  was  gray,  and  the  sill  of  the  window  was 
filled  with  pots  of  sickly  plants.  In  this  room,  which 
had  a  coating  of  some  greasy,  fuliginous  substance, 


Unconscious  Comedians.  255 

the  furniture,  the  chairs,  the  table,  were  all  most 
abject.  The  floor  tiles  oozed  like  a  water-cooler. 
Iu  short,  every  accessory  was  in  keeping  with  the 
fearful  old  woman  of  the  hooked  nose,  ghastly  face, 
and  decent  rags  who  directed  the  ''consulters  "  to  sit 
down,  informing  them  that  only  one  at  a  time  could 
be  admitted  to  Madame. 

Gazonal,  who  played  the  intrepid,  entered  bravely, 
and  found  himself  in  presence  of  one  of  those  women 
forgotten  by  Death,  who  no  doubt  forgets  them  inten- 
tionally in  order  to  leave  some  samples  of  Itself  among 
the  living.  He  saw  before  him  a  withered  face  in 
which  shone  fixed  gray  eyes  of  wearying  immobility; 
a  flattened  nose,  smeared  with  snuff;  knuckle-bones 
well  set  up  by  muscles  that,  under  pretence  of  being 
hands,  played  nonchalantly  with  a  pack  of  cards,  like 
some  machine  the  movement  of  which  is  about  to  run 
down.  The  body,  a  species  of  broom-handle  decently 
covered  with  clothes,  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  death 
and  did  not  stir.  Above  the  forehead  rose  a  coif  of 
black  velvet.  Madame  Fontaine,  for  it  was  really  a 
woman,  had  a  black  hen  on  her  right  hand  and  a  huge 
toad,  named  Astaroth,  on  her  left.  Gazonal  did  not  at 
first  perceive  them. 

The  toad,  of  surprising  dimensions,  was  less 
alarming  in  himself  than  through  the  effect  of  two  topaz 
eyes,  large  as  a  ten-sous  piece,  which  cast  forth  vivid 


256  Unconscious  Comedians. 

gleams.  It  was  impossible  to  endure  that  look.  The 
toad  is  a  creature  as  yet  unexplained.  Perhaps  the 
whole  animal  creation,  including  man,  is  comprised 
in  it;  for,  as  Lassailly  said,  the  toad  exists  indefinitely; 
and,  as  we  know,  it  is  of  all  created  animals  the  one 
whose  marriage  lasts  the  longest. 

The  black  hen  had  a  cage  about  two  feet  distant 
from  the  table,  covered  with  a  green  cloth,  to  which 
she  came  along  a  plank  which  formed  a  sort  of  draw- 
bridge between  the  cage  and  the  table. 

When  the  woman,  the  least  real  of  the  creatures  in 
this  Hoffmannesque  den,  said  to  Gazonal:  "Cut!" 
the  worthy  provincial  shuddered  involuntarily.  That 
which  renders  these  beiugs  so  formidable  is  the  im- 
portance of  what  we  want  to  know.  People  go  to 
them,  as  they  know  very  well,  to  buy  hope. 

The  den  of  the  sibyl  was  much  darker  than  the  ante- 
chamber; the  color  of  the  walls  could  scarcely  be  dis- 
tinguished. The  ceiling,  blackened  by  smoke,  far 
from  reflecting  the  little  light  that  came  from  a  window 
obstructed  by  pale  and  sickly  vegetations,  absorbed 
the  greater  part  of  it ;  but  the  table  where  the  sorceress 
sat  received  what  there  was  of  this  half-light  fully. 
The  table,  the  chair  of  the  woman,  and  that  on  which 
Gazonal  was  seated,  formed  the  entire  furniture  of  the 
little  room,  which  was  divided  at  one  end  by  a  sort  of 
loft  where  Madame  Fontaine  probably  slept.     Gazonal 


Unconscious  Comedians.  257 

heard  through  a  half -opened  door  the  bubbling  murmur 
of  a  soup-pot.  That  kitchen  sound,  accompanied  by 
a  composite  odor  in  which  the  effluvia  of  a  sink  pre- 
dominated, mingled  incongruous  ideas  of  the  necessi- 
ties of  actual  life  with  those  of  supernatural  power. 
Disgust  entered  into  curiosity. 

Gazonal  observed  one  stair  of  pine  wood,  the  lowest 
no  doubt  of  the  staircase  which  led  to  the  loft.  He 
took  in  these  minor  details  at  a  glance,  with  a  sense  of 
nausea.  It  was  all  quite  otherwise  alarming  than  the 
romantic  tales  and  scenes  of  German  drama  lead  one 
to  expect;  here  was  suffocating  actuality.  The  air 
diffused  a  sort  of  dizzy  heaviness,  the  dim  light 
rasped  the  nerves.  When  the  Southerner,  impelled  by 
a  species  of  self-assertion,  gazed  firmly  at  the  toad,  he 
felt  a  sort  of  emetic  heat  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach, 
and  was  conscious  of  a  terror  like  that  a  criminal 
might  feel  in  presence  of  a  gendarme.  He  endeavored 
to  brace  himself  by  looking  at  Madame  Fontaine; 
but  there  he  encountered  two  almost  white  eyes,  the 
motionless  and  icy  pupils  of  which  were  absolutely 
intolerable  to  him.     The  silence  became  terrifying. 

"  Which  do  you  wish,  monsieur,  the  five-franc  for- 
tune, the  ten-franc  fortune,  or  the  grand  game?  " 

"The  five-franc  fortune  is  dear  enough,"  replied  the 
Southerner,  making  powerful  efforts  not  to  yield  to  the 
influence  of  the  surroundings  in  which  he  found  himself. 

17 


258  Unconscious   Comedians. 

At  the  moment  when  Gazonal  was  thus  endeavoring 
to  collect  himself,  a  voice  —  an  infernal  voice  —  made 
him  bound  in  his  chair;  the  black  hen  clucked. 

"Go  back,  my  daughter,  go  back;  monsieur  chooses 
to  spend  only  five  francs." 

The  hen  seemed  to  understand  her  mistress,  for, 
after  coming  within  a  foot  of  the  cards,  she  turned 
and  resumed  her  former  place. 

"What  flower  do  you  like  best?"  asked  the  old 
woman,  in  a  voice  hoarsened  by  the  phlegm  which 
seemed  to  rise  and  fall  incessantly  in  her  bronchial 
tubes. 

"The  rose." 

"What  color  are  you  fond  of?" 

"Blue." 

"What  animal  do  you  prefer?" 

"The  horse.     Why  these  questions ?  "  he  asked. 

"Man  derives  his  form  from  his  anterior  states," 
she  said  sententiously.  "Hence  his  instincts;  and 
his  instincts  rule  his  destiny.  What  food  do  you  like 
best  to  eat,  — fish,  game,  cereals,  butcher's  meat,  sweet 
things,  vegetables,  or  fruits  ?  " 

"Game." 

"In  what  month  were  you  born?  " 

"September." 

"Put  out  your  hand." 

Madame  Fontaine  looked  attentively  at  the  lines  of 


Unconscious   Comedians.  259 

the  hand  that  was  shown  to  her.  It  was  all  done  seri- 
ously, with  no  pretence  of  sorcery;  on  the  contrary, 
with  the  simplicity  a  notary  might  have  shown  when 
asking  the  intentions  of  a  client  about  a  deed. 
Presently  she  shuffled  the  cards,  and  asked  Gazonal 
to  cut  them,  and  then  to  make  three  packs  of  them 
himself.  After  which  she  took  the  packs,  spread 
them  out  before  her,  and  examined  them  as  a  gambler 
examines  the  thirty-six  numbers  at  roulette  before  he 
risks  his  stake.  Gazonal's  bones  were  freezing;  he 
seemed  not  to  know  where  he  was ;  but  his  amazement 
grew  greater  and  greater  when  this  hideous  old  woman 
in  a  green  bonnet,  stout  and  squat,  whose  false  front 
was  frizzed  into  points  of  interrogation,  proceeded,  in 
a  thick  voice,  to  relate  to  him  all  the  particular  cir- 
cumstances, even  the  most  secret,  of  his  past  life :  she 
told  him  his  tastes,  his  habits,  his  character;  the 
thoughts  of  his  childhood;  everything  that  had  influ- 
enced his  life;  a  marriage  broken  off,  why,  with  whom, 
the  exact  description  of  the  woman  he  had  loved;  and, 
finally,  the  place  he  came  from,  his  lawsuit,  etc. 

Gazonal  at  first  thought  it  a  hoax  prepared  by  his 
companions ;  but  the  absolute  impossibility  of  such  a 
conspiracy  appeared  to  him  almost  as  soon  as  the  idea 
itself,  and  he  sat  speechless  before  that  truly  infernal 
power,  the  incarnation  of  which  borrowed  from  human- 
ity a  form  which  the  imagination  of  painters  and  poets 


260  Unconscious   Comedians. 

has  throughout  all  ages  regarded  as  the  most  awful  of 
created  things,  —  namely,  a  toothless,  hideous,  wheez- 
ing hag,  with  cold  lips,  flattened  nose,  and  whitish 
eyes.  The  pupils  of  those  eyes  had  brightened, 
through  them  gushed  a  ray,  —  was  it  from  the  depths  of 
the  future  or  from  hell? 

Gazonal  asked,  interrupting  the  old  creature,  of 
what  use  the  toad  and  the  hen  were  to  her. 

"They  predict  the  future.  The  consulter  himself 
throws  grain  upon  the  cards;  Bilouche  comes  and 
pecks  it.  Astaroth  crawls  over  the  cards  to  get  the 
food  the  client  holds  for  him,  and  those  two  wonder- 
ful intelligences  are  never  mistaken.  Will  you  see 
them  at  work  ?  —  you  will  then  know  your  future.  The 
cost  is  a  hundred  francs." 

Gazonal,  horrified  by  the  gaze  of  Astaroth,  rushed 
into  the  antechamber,  after  bowing  to  the  terrible  old 
woman.  He  was  moist  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  under 
the  incubation  of  some  evil  spirit. 

"Let.  us  get  away!  "  he  said  to  the  two  artists. 
"Did  you  ever  consult  that  sorceress?  " 

"I  never  do  anything  important  without  getting 
Astaroth' s  opinion,"  said  Leon,  "and  I  am  always 
the  better  for  it." 

"I  'm  expecting  the  virtuous  fortune  which  Bilouche 
has  promised  me,"  said  Bixiou. 

I  've   a   fever,"   cried   Gazonal.     "If   I  believed 


u 


Unconscious  Comedians.  261 

■what  you  say  I  should  have  to  believe  in  sorcery,  in 
some  supernatural  power." 

"It  may  be  only  natural,"  said  Bixiou.  "One-third 
of  all  the  lorettes,  one-fourth  of  all  the  statesmen, 
and  one-half  of  all  artists  consult  Madame  Fontaine; 
and  I  know  a  minister  to  whom  she  is  an  Egeria." 

"Did  she  tell  you  your  future?  "  asked  Leon. 

"No;  I  had  enough  of  her  about  my  past.  But," 
added  Gazonal,  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  "if  she 
can,  by  the  help  of  those  dreadful  collaborators,  pre- 
dict the  future,  how  came  she  to  lose  in  the  lottery?  " 

"  Ah !  you  put  your  finger  on  one  of  the  greatest 
mysteries  of  occult  science,"  replied  Leon.  "The 
moment  that  the  species  of  inward  mirror  on  which 
the  past  or  the  future  is  reflected  to  their  minds  be- 
comes clouded  by  the  breath  of  a  personal  feeling,  by 
an  idea  foreign  to  the  purpose  of  the  power  they  are 
exerting,  sorcerers  and  sorceresses  can  see  nothing; 
just  as  an  artist  who  blurs  art  with  political  combina- 
tions and  systems  loses  his  genius.  Not  long  ago, 
a  man  endowed  with  the  gift  of  divining  by  cards,  a 
rival  to  Madame  Fontaine,  became  addicted  to  vicious 
practices,  and  being  unable  to  tell  his  own  fate  from 
the  cards,  was  arrested,  tried,  and  condemned  at  the 
court  of  assizes.  Madame  Fontaine,  who  predicts  the 
future  eight  times  out  of  ten,  was  never  able  to  know 
if  she  would  win  or  lose  in  a  lottery." 


262  Unconscious  Comedians. 

"It  is  the  same  thing  in  magnetism,"  remarked 
Bixiou.     "A  man  can't  magnetize  himself. " 

"Heavens!  now  we  come  to  magnetism!"  cried 
Gazonal.     "Ah  gal  do  you  know  everything?  " 

"Friend  Gazonal,"  replied  Bixiou,  gravely,  "to  be 
able  to  laugh  at  everything  one  must  know  everything. 
As  for  me,  I  've  been  in  Paris  since  my  childhood ; 
I've  lived,  by  means  of  my  pencil,  on  its  follies  and 
absurdities,  at  the  rate  of  five  caricatures  a  month. 
Consequently,  I  often  laugh  at  ideas  in  which  I  have 
faith." 

"Come,  let  us  get  to  something  else,"  said  Leon. 
"We'll  go  to  the  Chamber  and  settle  the  cousin's 
affair." 

"This,"  said  Bixiou,  imitating  Odry  in  "Les 
Funambules,"  "is  high  comedy,  for  we  will  make  the 
first  orator  we  meet  pose  for  us,  and  you  shall  see  that 
in  those  halls  of  legislation,  as  elsewhere,  the  Parisian 
language  has  but  two  tones,  —  Self-interest,  Vanity." 

As  they  got  into  their  citadine,  Leon  saw  in  a 
rapidly  driven  cabriolet  a  man  to  whom  he  made  a 
sign  that  he  had  something  to  say  to  him. 

"There's  Publicola  Masson,"  said  Le'on  to  Bixiou. 
"I  am  going  to  ask  for  a  sitting  this  evening  at  five 
o'clock,  after  the  Chamber.  The  cousin  shall  then 
see  the  most  curious  of  all  the  originals." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Gazonal,  while  Leon  went  to 
speak  to  Publicola  Masson. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  263 


(t 


u 


An  artist-pedicure,"  replied  Bixiou,  "author  of  a 
*  Treatise  on  Corporistics, '  who  cuts  your  corns  by 
subscription,  and  who,  if  the  Republicans  triumph 
for  six  months,  will  assuredly  become  immortal." 
Drives  his  carriage!  "  ejaculated  Gazonal. 
But,  my  good  Gazonal,  it  is  only  millionnaires  who 
have  time  to  go  afoot  in  Paris." 

"To  the  Chamber!"  cried  Leon  to  the  coachman, 
getting  back  into  the  carriage. 

"Which,  monsieur?" 

"Deputies,"  replied  Leon,  exchanging  a  smile  with 
Bixiou. 

"Paris  begins  to  confound  me,"  said  Gazonal. 

"To  make  you  see  its  immensity,  — moral,  political 
and  literary,  —  we  are  now  proceeding  like  the  Roman 
cicerone,  who  shows  you  in  Saint  Peter's  the  thumb  of 
the  statue  you  took  to  be  life-size,  and  the  thumb 
proves  to  be  a  foot  long.  You  haven't  yet  measured 
so  much  as  a  great  toe  of  Paris." 

"And  remark,  cousin  Gazonal,  that  we  take  things 
as  they  come;  we  haven't  selected." 

"This  evening  you  shall  sup  as  they  feasted  at 
Belshazzar's;  and  there  you  shall  see  our  Paris,  our 
own  particular  Paris,  playing  lansquenet,  and  risking 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  at  a  throw  without 
winking. r? 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  citadine  stopped  at 


2G4  Unconscious  Comedians. 

the  foot  of  the  steps  going  up  to  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  at  that  end  of  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde  which 
leads  to  discord. 

"I  thought  the  Chamber  unapproachable?  "  said  the 
provincial,  surprised  to  find  himself  in  the  great 
lobby. 

"That  depends,"  replied  Bixiou;  "materially  speak- 
ing, it  costs  thirty  sous  for  a  citadine  to  approach  it ; 
politically,  you  have  to  spend  rather  more.  The 
swallows  thought,  so  a  poet  says,  that  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  was  erected  for  them;  we  artists  think  that 
this  public  building  was  built  for  us,  — to  compensate 
for  the  stupidities  of  the  Theatre-Francais  and  make 
us  laugh;  but  the  comedians  on  this  stage  are  much 
more  expensive;  and  they  don't  give  us  every  day  the 
value  of  our  money." 

"So  this  is  the  Chamber!  "  said  Gazonal,  as  he 
paced  the  great  hall  in  which  there  were  then  about 
a  dozen  persons,  and  looked  around  him  with  an  air 
which  Bixiou  noted  down  in  his  memory  and  repro- 
duced in  one  of  the  famous  caricatures  with  which  he 
rivalled  Gavarni. 

Leon  went  to  speak  to  one  of  the  ushers  who  go 
and  come  continually  between  this  hall  and  the  hall 
of  sessions,  with  which  it  communicates  by  a  passage 
in  which  are  stationed  the  stenographers  of  the 
"Moniteur"  and  persons  attached  to  the  Chamber. 


Unconscious  Comedians.  265 


a 


;As  for  the  minister,"  replied  the  usher  to  Leon  as 
Gazonal  approached  them,  "  he  is  there;  but  I  don't 
know  if  Monsieur  Giraud  has  come.     I  '11  see." 

As  the  usher  opened  one  side  of  the  double  door 
through  which  none  but  deputies,  ministers,  or  mes- 
sengers from  the  king  are  allowed  to  pass,  Gazonal 
saw  a  man  come  out  who  seemed  still  young,  although 
he  was  really  forty-eight  years  old.  and  to  whom  the 
usher  evidently  indicated  Leon  de  Lora. 

"Ha!  you  here!"  he  exclaimed,  shaking  hands 
with  both  Bixiou  and  Lora.  u  Scamps!  what  are  you 
doing  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  laws  ?  " 

" Parbleu!  we've  come  to  learn  how  to  blague" 
said  Bixiou.      "We  might  get  rusty  if  we  didn't." 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  garden,"  said  the  young  man, 
not  observing  that  Gazonal  belonged  to  the  party. 

Seeing  that  this  new-comer  was  well-dressed,  in 
black,  the  provincial  did  not  know  in  which  political 
category  to  place  him ;  but  he  followed  the  others  into 
the  garden  contiguous  to  the  hall  which  follows  the 
line  of  the  quai  Napoleon.  Once  in  the  garden  the 
ci-devant  young  man  gave  way  to  a  peal  of  laughter 
which  he  seemed  to  have  been  repressing  since  he 
entered  the  lobby. 

"What  is  it?  "  asked  Leon  de  Lora. 

"  My  dear  friend,  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  the  con- 
stitutional government  we  are  forced  to  tell  the  most 


266  Unconscious  Comedians. 

frightful  lies  with  incredible  self-possession.  But  as 
for  me,  I  'in  freakish;  some  clays  I  can  lie  like  a  pro- 
spectus; other  days  I  can't  be  serious.  This  is  one 
of  my  hilarious  days.  Now,  at  this  moment,  the 
prime  minister,  being  summoned  by  the  Opposition 
to  make  known  a  certain  diplomatic  secret,  is  going 
through  his  paces  in  the  tribune.  Being  an  honest 
man  who  never  lies  on  his  own  account,  he  whis- 
pered to  me  as  he  mounted  the  breach:  i  Heaven 
knows  what  I  shall  say  to  them.'  A  mad  desire  to 
laugh  overcame  me,  and  as  one  mustn't  laugh  on  the 
ministerial  bench  I  rushed  out,  for  my  youth  does 
come  back  to  me  most  unseasonably  at  times." 

"At  last,"  cried  Gazonal,  "I've  found  an  honest 
man  in  Paris!  You  must  be  a  very  superior  man," 
he  added,  looking  at  the  stranger. 

"Ah  caf  who  is  this  gentleman?"  said  the  ci- 
devant  young  man,   examining  Gazonal. 

"  My  cousin,"  said  Leon,  hastily.  "  I  '11  answer  for 
his  silence  and  his  honor  as  for  my  own.  It  is  on 
his  account  we  have  come  here  now;  he  has  a  case 
before  the  administration  which  depends  on  your 
ministry.  His  prefect  evidently  wants  to  ruin  him, 
and  we  have  come  to  see  you  in  order  to  prevent  the 
Council  of  State  from  ratifying  a  great  injustice." 

"  Who  brings  up  the  case?" 

"Massol." 


Unconscious   Comedians.  267 

"Good." 

"  And  our  friends  Giraud  and  Claude  Vignon  are 
on  the  committee,"  said  Bixiou. 

u  Say  just  a  word  to  them,"  urged  Leon;  "tell 
them  to  come  to-night  to  Carabine's,  where  du  Tillet 
gives  a  fete  apropos  of  railways,  —  they  are  plunder- 
ing more  than  ever  on  the  roads." 

"  Ah  ca!  but  is  n't  your  cousin  from  the  Pyrenees?" 
asked  the  young  man,  now  become  serious. 

"Yes,"  replied  Gazonal, 

"  And  you  did  not  vote  for  us  in  the  last  elections?" 
said  the  statesman,  looking  hard  at  Gazonal. 

"No;  but  what  you  have  just  said  in  my  hearing 
has  bribed  me ;  on  the  word  of  a  commandant  of  the 
National  Guard  I  '11  have  your  candidate  elected  —  " 

"Very  good;  will  you  guarantee  your  cousin?" 
asked  the  young  man,  turning  to  Leon. 

"We  are  forming  him,"  said  Bixiou,  in  a  tone  irre- 
sistibly comic. 

"Well,  I'll  see  about  it,"  said  the  young  man, 
leaving  his  friends  and  rushing  precipitately  back  to 
the  Chamber. 

"  Who  is  that?  "  saked  Gazonal. 

"The  Comte  de  Rastignac;  the  minister  of  the 
department  in  which  your  affair  is  brought  up." 

"  A  minister!  Is  n't  a  minister  anything  more  than 
that?" 


268  Unconscious   Comedians. 

"  He  is  an  old  friend  of  ours.  He  now  has  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  a  year;  he 's  a  peer  of  France ; 
the  king  has  made  him  a  count;  he  married  Nucingen's 
daughter ;  and  he  is  one  of  the  two  or  three  statesmen 
produced  by  the  revolution  of  July.  But  his  fame 
and  his  power  bore  him  sometimes,  and  he  comes  down 
to  laugh  with  us." 

"Ah  ga!  cousin;  why  didn't  you  tell  us  you 
belonged  to  the  Opposition?"  asked  Leon,  seizing 
Gazonal  by  the  arm.  "  How  stupid  of  you  !  One 
deputy  more  or  less  to  Right  or  Left  and  your  bed  is 
made." 

"  We  are  all  for  the  Others  down  my  way." 

"Let  'em  go,"  said  Bixiou,  with  a  facetious  look; 
"they  have  Providence  on  their  side,  and  Providence 
will  bring  them  back  without  you  and  in  spite  of 
themselves.     A  manufacturer  ought  to  be  a  fatalist." 

"What  luck!  There's  Maxime,  with  Canalis  and 
Giraud,"  said  Leon. 

"  Come  along,  friend  Gazonal,  the  promised  actors 
are  mustering  on  the  stage,"  said  Bixiou. 

And  all  three  advanced  to  the  above-named  person- 
ages, who  seemed  to  be  sauntering  along  with  nothing 
to  do. 

"Have  they  turned  you  out,  or  why  are  you  idling 
about  in  this  way?  '    said  Bixiou  to  Giraud. 

"  No,  while  they  are  voting  by  secret  ballot  we  have 
come  out  for  a  little  air,"  replied  Giraud. 


Unconscious   Comedians.  269 

"  How  did  the  prime  minister  pull  through?  " 

44  He  was  magnificent!  "  said  Canalis. 

"Magnificent!"  repeated  Maxime. 

"Magnificent!  "  cried  Giraud. 

"  So  !  so !    Right,  Left,  and  Centre  are  unanimous  !  " 

"All  with  a  different  meaning,"  observed  Maxime 
de  Trailles. 

Maxime  was  the  ministerial  deputy. 

"Yes,"  said  Canalis,  laughing. 

Though  Canalis  had  already  been  a  minister,  he 
was  at  this  moment  tending;  toward  the  Right. 

44  Ah!  but  you  had  a  fine  triumph  just  now,"  said 
Maxime  to  Canalis;  4'  it  was  you  who  forced  the  min- 
ister into  the  tribune." 

44  And  made  him  lie  like  a  charlatan,"  returned 
Canalis. 

44  A  worthy  victory,"  said  the  honest  Giraud.  "In 
his  place  what  would  you  have  clone?  " 

"  I  should  have  lied." 

"It  isn't  called  lying,"  said  Maxime  de  Trailles; 
44 it  is  called  protecting  the  crown." 

So  saying,  he  led  Canalis  away  to  a  little  distance. 

"That's  a  great  orator,"  said  Leon  to  Giraud, 
pointing  to  Canalis. 

44  Yes  and  no,"  replied  the  councillor  of  state.  "  A 
fine  bass  voice,  and  sonorous,  but  more  of  an  artist  in 
words  than  an  orator.     In  short,  he  's  a  fine  instrument 


270  Unconscious  Comedians. 

but  he  is  n't  music,  consequently  he  has  not,  and  he 
never  will  have,  the  ear  of  the  Chamber ;  in  no  case 
will  he  ever  be  master  of  the  situation." 

Canalis  and  Maxime  were  returning  toward  the 
little  group  as  Giraud,  deputy  of  the  Left  Centre,  pro- 
nounced this  verdict.  Maxime  took  Giraud  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  off,  probably  to  make  the  same  confi- 
dence he  had  just  made  Canalis. 

"  What  an  honest,  upright  fellow  that  is,"  said  Leon 
to  Canalis,  nodding  toward  Giraud. 

"One  of  those  upright  fellows  who  kill  administra- 
tions," replied  Canalis. 

"  Do  you  think  him  a  good  orator?  " 

"  Yes  and  no,"  replied  Canalis;  "  he  is  wordy;  he  's 
long-winded,  a  plodder  in  argument,  and  a  good 
logician;  but  he  does  n't  understand  the  higher  logic, 
that  of  events  and  circumstances;  consequently  he 
has  never  had,  and  never  will  have,  the  ear  of  the 
Chamber." 

At  the  moment  when  Canalis  uttered  this  judgment 
on  Giraud,  the  latter  was  returning  with  Maxime  to 
the  group;  and  forgetting  the  presence  of  a  stranger 
whose  discretion  was  not  known  to  them  like  that  of 
Leon  and  Bixiou,  he  took  Canalis  by  the  hand  in  a 
very  significant  manner. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  consent  to  what  Monsieur  de 
Trailles  proposes.  I  '11  put  the  question  to  you  in  the 
Chamber,  but  I  shall  do  it  with  great  severity." 


Unconscious   Comedians.  271 

"Then  we  shall  have  the  house  with  us,  for  a  man 
of  your  weight  and  your  eloquence  is  certain  to  have 
the  ear  of  the  Chamber,"  said  Canalis.  "  I  '11  reply 
to  you;  but  I  shall  do  it  sharply,  to  crush  you." 

"  You  could  bring  about  a  chauge  of  the  cabinet, 
for  on  such  ground  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  the 
Chamber,  and  be  master  of  the  situation." 

"Maxirne  has  trapped  them  both,"  said  Leon  to  his 
cousin;  "  that  fellow  is  like  a  fish  in  water  among  the 
intrigues  of  the  Chamber." 

"  Who  is  he?  "  asked  Gazonal. 

"An  ex-scoundrel  who  is  now  in  a  fair  way  to 
become  an  ambassador,"  replied  Bixiou. 

"Giraud!"  said  Leon  to  the  councillor  of  state, 
"  don't  leave  the  Chamber  without  asking  Eastignac 
what  he  promised  me  to  tell  you  about  a  suit  you  are 
to  render  a  decision  on  two  days  hence.  It  concerns 
my  cousin  here  ;  I  '11  go  and  see  you  to-morrow  morn- 
ing early  about  it." 

The  three  friends  followed  the  three  deputies,  at  a 
distance,  into  the  lobbv. 

"  Cousin,  look  at  those  two  men,"  said  Leon,  point- 
ing out  to  him  a  former  minister  and  the  leader  of  the 
Left  Centre.  "  Those  are  two  men  who  really  have 
4  the  ear  of  the  Chamber, '  and  who  are  called  in  jest 
ministers  of  the  department  of  the  Opposition.  They 
have  the  ear  of  the  Chamber  so  completely  that  they 
are  always  pulling  it." 


272  Unconscious   Comedians. 

"  It  is  four  o'clock,"  said  Bixiou,  "  let  us  go  back  to 
the  rue  cle  Berlin." 

"Yes;  you've  now  seen  the  heart  of  the  govern- 
ment, cousin,  and  you  must  next  be  shown  the  asca- 
rides,  the  taenia,  the  intestinal  worm,  — the  republican, 
since  I  must  needs  name  him,"  said  Leon. 

When  the  three  friends  were  once  more  packed  into 
their  hackney-coach,  Gazonal  looked  at  his  cousin  and 
Bixiou  like  a  man  who  had  a  mind  to  launch  a  flood 
of  oratorical  and  Southern  bile  upon  the  elements. 

"I  distrusted  with  all  my  might  this  great  hussy 
of  a  town,"  he  rolled  out  in  Southern  accents;  "but 
since  this  morning  I  despise  her!  The  poor  little 
province  you  think  so  petty  is  an  honest  girl;  but 
Paris  is  a  prostitute,  a  greedy,  lying  comedian ;  and  I 
am  very  thankful  not  to  be  robbed  of  my  skin  in  it." 

"The  day  is  not  over  yet,"  said  Bixiou,  sententi- 
ously,  winking  at  Leon. 

"And  why  do  you  complain  in  that  stupid  way," 
said  Leon,  "  of  a  prostitution  to  which  you  will  owe 
the  winning  of  your  lawsuit?  Do  you  think  you  are 
more  virtuous  than  we,  less  of  a  comedian,  less  greedy, 
less  liable  to  fall  under  some  temptation,  less  con- 
ceited than  those  we  have  been  making  dance  for  you 
like  puppets  ?  " 
Try  me!" 
;Poor  lad!"   said  Leon,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 


(t 


Unconscious  Comedians.  273 


(i 


have  n't  you  already  promised  Rastignac  your  elec- 
toral influence? " 

"  Yes,  because  be  was  the  only  one  who  ridiculed 
himself." 

"Poor  lad!"  repeated  Bixiou,  " why  slight  me,  who 
am  always  ridiculing  myself?  You  are  like  a 
pug-dog  barking  at  a  tiger.  Ha !  if  you  saw  us 
really  ridiculing  a  man,  you  'd  see  that  we  can  drive  a 
sane  man  mad." 

This  conversation  brought  Gazonal  back  to  his 
cousin's  house,  where  the  sight  of  luxury  silenced  him, 
and  put  an  end  to  the  discussion.  Too  late  he  per- 
ceived that  Bixiou  had  been  making  him  pose. 

At  half-past  five  o'clock,  the  moment  when  Leon  de 
Lora  was  making  his  evening  toilet  to  the  great 
wonderment  of  Gazonal,  who  counted  the  thousand 
and  one  superfluities  of  his  cousin,  and  admired  the 
solemnity  of  the  valet  as  he  performed  his  functions, 
the  "  pedicure  of  monsieur"  was  announced,  and  Pub- 
licola  Masson,  a  little  man  fifty  years  of  age,  made 
his  appearance,  laid  a  small  box  of  instruments  on  the 
floor,  and  sat  down  on  a  small  chair  opposite  to  Leon, 
after  bowing  to  Gazonal  and  Bixiou. 

u  How  are  matters  going  with  you?"  asked  Leon, 
delivering  to  Publicola  one  of  his  feet,  already  washed 
and  prepared  by  the  valet. 

"  I   am   forced   to  take   two   pupils,  —  two    young 

18 


274  Unconscious   Comedians. 

fellows  who,  despairing  of  fortune,  have  quitted  surgery 
for  corporistics ;  they  were  actually  dying  of  hunger; 
and  yet  they  are  full  of   talent." 

"  I  'm  not  asking  you  about  pedestrial  affairs,  I 
want  to  know  how  you  are  getting  on  politically." 

Masson  gave  a  glance  at  Gazonal,  more  eloquent 
than  any  species  of  question. 

"Oh!  you  can  speak  out,  that's  my  cousin;  in  a 
way  he  belongs  to  you;  he  thinks  himself  legitimist." 

44  Well!  we  are  coming  along,  we  are  advancing! 
In  five  years  from  now  Europe  will  be  with  us.  Switz- 
erland and  Italy  are  fermenting  finely ;  and  when  the  oc- 
casion comes  we  are  all  ready.  Here,  in  Paris,  we  have 
fifty  thousand  armed  men,  without  counting  two  hundred 
thousand  citizens  who  have  n't  a  penny  to  live  upon." 

"  Pooh,"  said  Leon,  "  how  about  the  fortifications?  " 

"  Pie-crust;  we  can  swallow  them,"  replied  Masson. 

"In  the  first  place,  we  sha'n't  let  the  cannon  in, 
and,  in  the  second,  we  've  got  a  little  machine  more 
powerful  than  all  the  forts  in  the  world,  —  a  machine, 
due  to  a  doctor,  which  cured  more  people  during  the 
short  time  we  worked  it  than  the  doctors  ever  killed." 

"How  you  talk!"  exclaimed  Gazonal,  whose  flesh 
began  to  creep  at  Publicola's  air  and  manner. 

"Ha!  that's  the  thing  we  rely  on!  We  follow 
Saint- Just  and  Robespierre ;  but  we  '11  do  better  than 
they;  they  were  timid,  and  you  see  what  came  of  it; 


Unconscious  Comedians.  215 

an  emperor!    the  elder  branch!    the  younger  branch! 
The  Montagnards  did  n't  lop  the  social  tree  enough." 

"Ah  ga!  you,  who  will  be,  they  tell  me,  consul,  or 
something  of  that  kind,  tribune  perhaps,  be  good 
enough  to  remember,"  said  Bixiou,  "  that  I  have 
asked  your  protection  for  the  last  dozen  years." 

"  No  harm  shall  happen  to  you;  we  shall  need  wags, 
and  you  can  take  the  place  of  Barere,"  replied  the 
corn-doctor. 

"  And  I?  "  said  Leon. 

"Ah,  you!  you  are  my  client,  and  that  will  save 
you;  for  genius  is  an  odious  privilege,  to  which  too 
much  is  accorded  in  France;  we  shall  be  forced  to 
annihilate  some  of  our  greatest  men  in  order  to  teach 
others  to  be  simple  citizens." 

The  corn-cutter  spoke  with  a  semi-serious,  semi- 
jesting  air  that  made  Gazonal  shudder. 

"  So,"  he  said,  "  there  's  to  be  no  more  religion?  " 

"No  more  religion  of  the  state,"  replied  the  pedi- 
cure, emphasizing  the  last  words;  "  every  man  will 
have  his  own.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  the  govern- 
ment is  just  now  endowing  convents ;  they  '11  provide 
our  funds.  Everything,  you  see,  conspires  in  our 
favor.  Those  who  pity  the  peoples,  who  clamor 
in  behalf  of  proletaries,  who  write  works  against 
the  Jesuits,  who  busy  themselves  about  the  ameliora- 
tion of  no  matter  what,  —  the  communists,  the  human- 


276  Unconscious   Comedians. 

itarians,  the  philanthropists,  you  understand,  —  all 
those  people  are  our  advanced  guard.  While  we  are 
storing  gunpowder,  they  are  making  the  tinder  which 
the  spark  of  a  single  circumstance  will  ignite." 

"But  what  do  you  expect  will  make  the  happiness 
of  France?  "  cried  Gazonal. 

"  Equality  of  citizens  and  cheapness  of  provisions. 
We  mean  that  there  shall  be  no  persons  lacking  any- 
thing, no  millionnaires,  no  suckers  of  blood  and 
victims." 

"That's  it!  —  maximum  and  minimum,"  said 
Gazonal. 

"You've  said  it,"  replied  the  corn-cutter,  deci- 
sively. 

"  No  more  manufacturers?  "  asked  Gazonal. 

"The  state  will  manufacture.  We  shall  all  be  the 
usufructuaries  of  France;  each  will  have  his  ration  as 
on  board  ship ;  and  all  the  world  will  work  according 
to  their  capacity." 

"  Ah!"  said  Gazonal,  "and  while  awaiting  the  time 
when  you  can  cut  off  the  heads  of  aristocrats  —  " 

"I  cut  their  nails,"  said  the  radical  republican, 
putting  up  his  tools  and  finishing  the  jest  himself. 

Then  he  bowed  very  politely  and  went  away. 
"  Can  this  be  possible  in  1845?  "  cried  Gazonal. 

"If  there  were  time  we  could  show  you,"  said  his 
cousin,  "  all  the  personages  of  1793,  and  you  could 


Unconscious   Comedians.  277 

talk  with  them.  You  have  just- seen  Marat;  well!  we 
knowFouquier-Tinville,  Collot  d'Herbois,  Robespierre, 
Chabot,  Fouche,  Barras;  there  is  even  a  magnificent 
Madame  Roland." 

"  Well,  the  tragic  is  not  lacking  to  your  play,"  said 
Gazonal. 

"It  is  six  o'clock.  Before  we  take  you  to  see  Odry 
in  '  Les  Saltimbanques  '  to-night,"  said  Leon  to 
Gazonal,  "  we  must  go  and  pay  a  visit  to  Madame 
Cadine,  —  an  actress  whom  your  committee-man  Massol 
cultivates,  and  to  whom  you  must  therefore  pay  the 
most  assiduous  court." 

"  And  as  it  is  all  important  that  you  conciliate  that 
power,  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  few  instructions," 
said  Bixiou.  "  Do  you  employ  workwomen  in  your 
manufactory  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  replied  Gazonal. 

"That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  resumed  Bixiou. 
"You  are  not  married,   and  you  are  a  great — " 

"Yes!"  cried  Gazonal,  "you've  guessed  my  strong 
point,  I  'm  a  great  lover  of  women." 

"  Well,  then!  if  you  will  execute  the  little  manoeuvre 
which  I  am  about  to  prescribe  for  you,  you  will  taste, 
without  spending  a  farthing,  the  sweets  to  be  found 
in  the  good  graces  of  an  actress." 

When  they  reached  the  rue  de  la  Victoire  where  the 
celebrated  actress  lived,  Bixiou,  who  meditated  a  trick 


278  Unconscious  Comedians. 

upon  the  distrustful  provincial,  had  scarcely  finished 
teaching  him  his  role;  but  Gazonal  was  quick,  as  we 
shall  see,  to  take  a  hint. 

The  three  friends  went  up  to  the  second  floor  of  a 
rather  handsome  house,  and  found  Madame  Jenny 
Cadine  just  finishing  dinner,  for  she  played  that  night 
in  an  afterpiece  at  the  Gymnase.  Having  presented 
Gazonal  to  this  great  power,  Leon  and  Bixiou,  in 
order  to  leave  them  alone  together,  made  the  excuse 
of  looking  at  a  piece  of  furniture  in  another  room; 
but  before  leaving,  Bixiou  had  whispered  in  the  actress's 
ear:  "  He  is  Leon's  cousin,  a  manufacturer,  enormously 
rich;  he  wants  to  win  a  suit  before  the  Council  of 
State  against  his  prefect,  and  he  thinks  it  wise  to  fas- 
cinate you  in  order  to  get  Massol  on  his  side." 

All  Paris  knows  the  beauty  of  that  young  actress, 
and  will  therefore  understand  the  stupefaction  of  the 
Southerner  on  seeing  her.  Though  she  had  received 
him  at  first  rather  coldly,  he  became  the  object  of  her 
good  graces  before  they  had  been  many  minutes  alone 
together. 

"How  strange!  "  said  Gazonal,  looking  round  him 
disdainfully  on  the  furniture  of  the  salon,  the  door  of 
which  his  accomplices  had  left  half  open,  "  that  a 
woman  like  you  should  be  allowed  to  live  in  such 
an  ill-furnished  apartment." 

"Ah,  yes,  indeed!  but  how  can  I  help  it?  Massol 
is  not  rich;  I  am  hoping  he  will  be  made  a  minister." 


Unconscious   Comedians.  279 

u  What  a  happy  man  ! "  cried  Gazonal,  heaving  the 
sigh  of  a  provincial. 

"Good!"  thought  she.  "I  shall  have  new  furni- 
ture,  and  get  the  better  of  Carabine." 

"  Well,  my  dear!  "  said  Leon,  returning,  "  you  '11 
be  sure  to  come  to  Carabine's  to-night,  won't  you?  — 
supper  and  lansquenet.'" 

"Will  monsieur  be  there?"  said  Jenny  Cadine, 
looking  artlessly  and  graciously  at  Gazonal. 

"Yes,  madame,"  replied  the  countryman,  dazzled 
by  such  rapid  success. 

"  But  Massol  will  be  there,"  said  Bixiou. 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  returned  Jenny.  "Come, 
we  must  part,  my  treasures ;  I  must  go  to  the  theatre." 

Gazonal  gave  his  hand  to  the  actress,  and  led  her  to 
the  citadine  which  was  waiting  for  her ;  as  he  did  so 
he  pressed  hers  with  such  ardor  that  Jenny  Cadine 
exclaimed,  shaking  her  fingers :  "  Take  care !  I  have  n't 
any  others." 

When  the  three  friends  got  back  into  their  own 
vehicle,  Gazonal  endeavored  to  seize  Bixiou  round 
the  waist,  crying  out:  "She  bites!  You're  a  fine 
rascal!  " 

"  So  women  say,"  replied  Bixiou. 

At  half-past  eleven  o'clock,  after  the  play,  another 
citadine  took  the  trio  to  the  house  of  Mademoiselle 
Seraphine   Sinet,    better   known   under  the  name  of 


280  Unconscious  Comedians. 

Carabine,  —  one  of  those  pseudonyms  which  famous 
lorettes  take,  or  which  are  given  to  them;  a  name 
which,  in  this  instance,  may  have  referred  to  the 
pigeons  she  had  killed. 

Carabine,  now  become  almost  a  necessity  for  the 
banker  du  Til  let,  deputy  of  the  Left,  lived  in  a  charm- 
ing house  in  the  rue  Saint-Georges.  In  Paris  there 
are  many  houses  the  destination  of  which  never  varies ; 
and  the  one  we  now  speak  of  had  already  seen  seven 
careers  of  courtesans.  A  broker  had  brought  there, 
about  the  year  1827,  Suzanne  du  Val-Noble,  after- 
wards Madame  Gaillard.  In  that  house  the  famous 
Esther  caused  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  to  commit  the 
only  follies  of  his  life.  Florine,  and,  subsequently,  a 
person  now  called  in  jest  "  the  late  Madame  Schontz," 
had  scintillated  there  in  turn.  Bored  by  his  wife, 
du  Tillet  bought  this  modern  little  house,  and  there 
installed  the  celebrated  Carabine,  whose  lively  wit 
and  cavalier  manners  and  shameless  brilliancy  were  a 
counterpoise  to  the  dulness  of  domestic  life,  and  the 
toils  of  finance  and  politics. 

Whether  du  Tillet  or  Carabine  were  at  home  or  not 
at  home,  supper  was  served,  and  splendidly  served, 
for  ten  persons  every  day.  Artists,  men  of  letters, 
journalists,  and  the  habitues  of  the  house  supped  there 
when  they  pleased.  After  supper  they  gambled. 
More  than  one  member  of  both  Chambers  came  there 


Unconscious  Comedians.  281 

to  buy  what  Paris  pays  for  by  its  weight  in  gold,  — 
namely,  the  amusement  of  intercourse  with  anomalous 
untrammelled  women,  those  meteors  of  the  Parisian 
firmament  who  are  so  difficult  to  class.  There  wit 
reigns;  for  all  can  be  said,  and  all  is  said.  Cara- 
bine, a  rival  of  the  no  less  celebrated  Malaga,  had 
finally  inherited  the  salon  of  Florine,  now  Madame 
Raoul  Nathan,  and  of  Madame  Schontz,  now  wife  of 
Chief -justice  du  Ronceret. 

As  he  entered,  Gazonal  made  one  remark  only,  but 
that  remark  was  both  legitimate  and  legitimist:  "It 
is  finer  than  the  Tuileries!"  The  satins,  velvets, 
brocades,  the  gold,  the  objects  of  art  that  swarmed 
there,  so  filled  the  eyes  of  the  war}7  provincial  that  at 
first  he  did  not  see  Madame  Jenny  Cadine,  in  a  toilet 
intended  to  inspire  respect,  who,  concealed  behind 
Carabine,  watched  his  entrance  observingly,  while  con- 
versing with  others. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Leon  to  Carabine,  "this  is 
my  cousin,  a  manufacturer,  who  descended  upon  me 
from  the  Pyrenees  this  morning.  He  knows  nothing 
of  Paris,  and  he  wants  Massol  to  help  him  in  a  suit 
he  has  before  the  Council  of  State.  We  have  there- 
fore taken  the  liberty  to  bring  him  —  his  name  is 
Gazonal  —  to  supper,  entreating  you  to  leave  him  his 
full  senses." 

"That's  as  monsieur  pleases;  wine  is  dear,"  said 


282  Unconscious  Comedians. 

Carabine,  looking  Gazonal  over  from  head  to  foot,  and 
thinking  him  in  no  way  remarkable. 

Gazonal,  bewildered  by  the  toilets,  the  lights,  the 
gilding,  the  chatter  of  the  various  groups  whom  he 
thought  to  be  discussing  him,  could  only  manage  to 
stammer  out  the  words:  "  Madame  —  madame  —  is  — 
very  good." 

"  What  do  you  manufacture?"  said  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  laughing. 

"  Say  laces  and  offer  her  some  guipure,"  whispered 
Bixiou  in  Gazonal' s  ear. 

"La-ces,"  said  Gazonal,  perceiving  that  he  would 
have  to  pay  for  his  supper.  "  It  will  give  me  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  offer  you  a  dress  —  a  scarf  —  a 
mantilla  of  my  make." 

"Ah,  three  things!  Well,  you  are  nicer  than  you 
look  to  be,"  returned  Carabine. 

"Paris  has  caught  me!"  thought  Gazonal,  now 
perceiving  Jenny  Cadine,   and  going  up  to  her. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  actress,  "  what  am  I  to  have?  " 

"All  I  possess,"  replied  Gazonal,  thinking  that  to 
offer  all  was  to  give  nothing. 

Massol,  Claude  Vignon,  du  Tillet,  Maxime  de 
Trailles,  Nucingen,  du  Bruel,  Malaga,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Gaillard,  Vauvinet,  and  a  crowd  of  other 
personages  now  entered. 

After  a  conversation  with  the  manufacturer  on  the 


Unconscious  Comedians.  283 

subject  of  his  suit,  Massol,  without  making  any  prom- 
ises, told  him  that  the  report  was  not  yet  written,  and 
that  citizens  could  always  rely  upon  the  knowledge  and 
the  independence  of  the  Council  of  State.  Receiving 
that  cold  and  dignified  response,  Gazonal,  in  despair, 
thought  it  necessary  to  set  about  seducing  the  charm- 
ing Jenny,  with  whom  he  was  by  this  time  in  love. 
Leon  de  Lora  and  Bixiou  left  their  victim  in  the  hands 
of  that  most  roguish  and  frolicsome  member  of  the 
anomalous  society,  —  for  Jenny  Cadine  is  the  sole 
rival  in  that  respect  of  the  famous  De'jazet. 

At  the  supper-table,  where  Gazonal  was  fascinated 
by  a  silver  service  made  by  the  modern  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  Froment-Meurice,  the  contents  of  which  were 
worthy  of  the  container,  his  mischievous  friends  were 
careful  to  sit  at  some  distance  from  him ;  but  they 
followed  with  cautious  eye  the  manoeuvres  of  the 
clever  actress,  who,  being  attracted  by  the  insidious 
hope  of  getting  her  furniture  renewed,  was  playing 
her  cards  to  take  the  provincial  home  with  her.  No 
sheep  upon  the  day  of  the  Fete-Dieu  ever  more  meekly 
allowed  his  little  Saint  John  to  lead  him  along  than 
Gazonal  as  he  followed  his  siren. 

Three  days  later,  Leon  and  Bixiou,  who  had  not 
seen  Gazonal  since  that  evening,  went  to  his  lodgings 
about  two  in  the  afternoon. 

"Well,  cousin,"  said  Leon,  "the  Council  of  State 
has  decided  in  favor  of  your  suit." 


284  Unconscious   Comedians. 


a 


Maybe,  but  it  is  useless  now,  cousin,"  said 
Gazonal,  lifting  a  melancholy  eye  to  his  two  friends. 
"  I  've  become  a  republican. " 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "  asked  Leon. 

"I  have  n't  anything  left;  not  even  enough  to  pay 
my  lawyer,"  replied  Gazonal.  "Madame  Jenny 
Cadine  has  got  notes  of  hand  out  of  me  to  the  amount 
of  more  money  than  all  the  property  I  own  —  " 

"  The  fact  is  Cadine  is  rather  dear;  but  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  didn't  get  anything  for  my  money," 
said  Gazonal.  "What  a  woman!  Well,  I'll  own 
the  provinces  are  not  a  match  for  Paris;  I  shall  retire 
to  La  Trappe." 

"Good!"  said  Bixiou,  "now  you  are  reasonable. 
Come,  recognize  the  majesty  of  the  capital." 

"And  of  capital,"  added  Leon,  holding  out  to 
Gazonal  his  notes  of  hand. 

Gazonal  gazed  at  the  papers  with  a  stupefied  air. 

"  You  can't  say  now  that  we  don't  understand  the 
duties  of  hospitality;  haven't  we  educated  you,  saved 
you  from  poverty,  feasted  you,  and  amused  you?" 
said  Bixiou. 

"  And  fooled  you,"  added  Leon,  making  the  gesture 
of  gamins  to  express  the  action  of  picking  pockets. 


ANOTHER  STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 


ANOTHER   STUDY   OF    WOMAN. 


TO  LEON  GOZLAN, 
As  a  Testimony  to  Good  Literary  Brotherhood. 


THE    SALON   OF   MADEMOISELLE   DES    TOUCHES. 

In  Parisian  society  you  will  nearly  always  find  two 
distinct  evenings  in  the  balls  and  routs.  First,  the 
official  evening,  at  which  all  the  invited  guests  are 
present,  —  a  gay  world  bored.  Each  person  poses 
for  his  or  her  neighbor.  The  majority  of  the  young 
women  have  come  there  to  meet  one  person  only. 
When  each  is  satisfied  that  she  is  the  handsomest 
woman  present  for  that  person,  arid  that  his  opinion  is 
probably  shared  by  some  others,  she  is  ready  to  leave, 
after  the  exchange  of  a  few  insignificant  speeches, 
such  as:  "Shall  you  go  early  to  La  Crampade?" — 
"  Madame  de  Portenduere  sang  very  well,  I  think. "  — 


288  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

"Who  is  that  little  woman  over  there,  covered  with 
diamonds  ?  "  Or,  perhaps,  after  casting  about  a  few 
epigrams,  which  give  momentary  pleasure  and  lasting 
wounds,  the  groups  begin  to  thin,  mere  acquaintances 
take  leave,  and  then  the  mistress  of  the  house  stops 
her  personal  friends,  and  a  few  artists  and  lively 
fellows,  saying,  in  a  whisper:  "Don't  go,  we  shall 
have  supper  presently." 

Then  the  company  gathers  in  a  little  salon.  The 
second,  the  real  evening,  begins,  —  an  evening  like 
those  of  the  old  regime,  when  everybody  understands 
what  is  talked  about,  conversation  is  general,  and 
each  person  present  is  expected  to  show  his  or  her  wit 
and  to  contribute  to  the  general  amusement.  The  scene 
has  changed ;  frank  laughter  succeeds  to  the  stiff  arti- 
ficial air  which  dulls  in  society  the  prettiest  faces.  In 
short,  pleasure  begins  as  the .  rout  ends.  The  rout, 
that  cold  review  of  luxury,  the  march-past  of  self- 
loves  in  full  costume,  is  one  of  those  English  inven- 
tions which  tend  to  turn  all  other  nations  into  mere 
machines.  England  seems  desirous  that  all  the  world 
should  be  as  much  and  as  often  bored  as  herself. 
This  second  party  succeeding  the  first  is  therefore 
in  some  French  houses  a  lively  protest  of  the  former 
spirits  of  our  joyous  land.  But,  unfortunately,  few 
houses  thus  protest;  and  the  reason  is  plain:  if  sup- 
pers are  no  longer  in  vogue  it  is  because  at  no  time, 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  289 

under  any  regime,  were  there  ever  so  few  persons  in 
France  with  settled  positions,  surroundings,  fortunes, 
families,  and  name  as  under  the  reign  of  Louis 
Philippe,  in  which  the  Revolution  was  begun  again 
legally.  All  the  world  is  on  the  march  toward  some 
end,  or  it  is  trotting  after  wealth.  Time  has  become 
the  most  costly  of  all  provisions;  no  one  can  allow 
himself  the  monstrous  prodigality  of  coming  home 
late  and  sleeping  late  the  next  morning.  The  second 
party  is  therefore  only  found  among  women  rich 
enough  to  really  entertain;  and  since  July,  1830,  such 
women  may  be  counted  on  the  fingers. 

In  spite  of  the  mute  opposition  of  the  faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  two  or  three  women,  among  them  the 
Marquise  d'Espard  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
refused  to  renounce  the  influence  they  had  held  up  to 
that  time  over  Paris,  and  did  not  close  their  salons. 

The  salon  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  which  was 
very  celebrated  in  Paris,  was  the  last  asylum  of  the 
true  French  wit  of  other  days,  with  its  hidden  pro- 
fundity, its  thousand  casuistries,  and  its  exquisite 
politeness.  There  you  might  observe  the  grace  of 
manner  which  underlay  the  conventions  of  politeness; 
the  easy  flow  of  conversation  in  spite  of  the  natural 
reserve  of  well-bred  persons;  and  above  all,  gener- 
osity and  largeness  of  ideas.  There,  no  one  dreamed 
of  reserving  his  thought  for  a  drama ;  no  one  saw  a 

19 


290  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

book  to  be  made  out  of  a  narrative.  In  short,  the 
hideous  skeleton  of  literature  in  want  did  not  rise  and 
show  itself  apropos  of  some  piquant  sally  or  some 
interesting  topic. 

During  the  evening  of  which  we  shall  now  speak, 
chance  had  collected  in  the  salon  of  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  a  number  of  persons  whose  undeniable  merits 
had  won  for  them  European  reputations.  This  is  not 
a  flattery  addressed  to  France,  for  several  foreigners 
were  among  us.  The  men  who  chiefly  shone  were 
by  no  means  the  most  distinguished.  Ingenious 
repartees,  shrewd  observations,  capital  satires,  de- 
scriptions given  with  brilliant  clearness,  sparkled  and 
flowed  without  preparation,  lavished  themselves  with- 
out reserve  as  without  assumption,  and  were  delight- 
fully felt  and  delicately  enjoyed.  The  men  of  the 
world  were  particularly  noticeable  for  a  grace,  a 
warmth  of  fancy  that  was  wholly  artistic.  You  will 
meet  elsewhere  in  Europe  elegant  manners,  cordiality, 
good-fellowship  and  knowledge,  but  in  Paris  only,  in 
this  salon  and  those  I  have  just  mentioned,  will  be 
found  in  perfection  that  particular  form  of  mind  which 
gives  to  these  social  qualities  an  agreeable  and  varied 
harmony,  a  fluvial  motion  by  which  this  wealth  of 
thoughts,  of  formulas,  of  narratives,  of  history  itself, 
winds  easily  along. 

Paris,  the  capital  of  taste,  alone  knows  the  science 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  291 

which  changes  conversation  to  a  joust  in  which  the 
quality  of  each  mind  is  condensed  into  a  flash,  where 
each  tilter  says  his  word  and  casts  his  experience  into 
it,  where  all  are  amused,  refreshed,  and  have  their 
faculties  exercised.  There  alone  you  can  exchange 
ideas;  there  you  do  not  carry,  like  the  dolphin  in  the 
fable,  a  monkey  on  your  back ;  there  you  are  under- 
stood, and  you  run  no  risk  of  staking  your  gold  against 
false  coin  or  copper.  There,  in  short,  talk,  light  and 
deep,  floats,  undulates,  and  turns,  changing  aspect 
and  color  at  every  sentence;  there,  too,  secrets  are 
well  betrayed.  Lively  criticism  and  pithy  narrative 
lead  each  other  on.  Eyes  are  listening  as  well  as 
ears;  gestures  put  questions  to  which  faces  reply. 
There,  all  is,  in  a  word,  thought  and  wit.  Never  had 
the  oral  phenomenon,  which,  if  well  studied  and 
well-managed,  makes  the  power  of  the  orator  and  the 
narrator,  so  completely  bewitched  me. 

I  was  not  the  only  one  sensitive  to  these  influences, 
and  we  passed  a  delightful  evening.  The  conversa- 
tion finally  turned  to  narrative,  and  led,  in  its  rapid 
course,  to  curious  confidences,  striking  portraits,  and 
a  multitude  of  fancies,  which  render  that  delight- 
ful improvisation  altogether  untransferable  to  paper. 
But,  by  leaving  to  a  few  things  their  tartness,  their 
abrupt  naturalness,  their  sophistical  sinuosities,  per- 
haps you  will  understand  the  charm  of  a  true  French 


292  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

soiree,  taken  at  the  moment  when  the  pleasantest 
familiarity  has  made  every  one  forget  his  or  her  self- 
interests,  self-loves,  or,  if  you  prefer  so  to  call  them, 
pretensions. 

About  two  in  the  morning,  when  supper  was  over, 
none,  but  a  few  intimates,  all  tried  friends,  tried  by 
an  intercourse  of  fifteen  years,  and  certain  men  of 
the  world,  well-bred  and  gifted  with  taste,  remained 
around  the  table.  A  tone  of  absolute  equality  reigned 
among  them;  and  yet  there  was  no  one  present  who 
did  not  feel  proud  of  being  himself. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  always  obliged  her  guests 
to  remain  at  table  until  they  took  their  leave,  having 
many  times  remarked  the  total  change  that  takes  place 
in  the  minds  of  those  present  by  removal  to  another 
room.  Between  a  dining-room  and  a  salon,  the  charm 
snaps.  According  to  Sterne,  the  ideas  of  an  author 
are  different  after  he  has  shaved  from  what  they  were 
before.  If  Sterne  is  right,  we  may  boldly  aver  that 
the  inclinations  of  persons  still  seated  round  a  dinner- 
table  are  not  those  of  the  same  persons  when  returned 
to  the  salon.  The  atmosphere  is  more  heady,  the  eye 
is  no  longer  enlivened  by  the  brilliant  disorder  of  the 
dessert;  we  have  lost  the  benefits  of  that  softening  of 
the  spirit,  that  kindliness  and  good-will  which  per- 
vaded our  being  in  the  pleasant  condition  of  those 
who  have  well  eaten,  and  are  sitting  at  their  ease  on 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  293 

chairs  as  comfortable  as  they  make  them  in  these 
days.  Perhaps  we  talk  more  willingly  in  presence  of 
the  dessert  and  in  company  with  choice  wines,  during 
the  delightful  moments  when  we  rest  our  elbow  on  the 
table  and  lean  our  head  on  our  hand.  Certain  it  is 
that  people  not  only  like  to  talk  at  such  times,  but  they 
like  to  listen.  Digestion,  nearly  alwa}?s  attentive,  is, 
according  to  characters,  either  talkative  or  silent. 
Each  person  present  then  follows  his  bent. 

This  preamble  was  needed  to  introduce  you  to  the 
charms  of  a  confidential  narrative  in  which  a  cele- 
brated man,  since  dead,  depicted  the  innocent  Jesuit- 
ism of  a  woman  with  the  crafty  shrewdness  of  a  man 
who  has  seen  many  things,  —  a  quality  which  makes 
public  men  the  most  delightful  narrators  when,  like 
Talleyrand  and  Metternich,  they  deign  to  tell  a  tale. 

De  Marsay,  who  had  now  been  prime  minister  for 
more  than  six  months,  had  already  given  proofs  of 
superior  capacity.  Though  friends  who  had  long 
known  him  were  not  surprised  to  see  him  display  both 
the  talents  and  aptitudes  of  a  statesman,  they  were 
still  asking  themselves  whether  he  felt  within  him- 
self a  great  political  strength,  or  whether  he  had 
simply  developed  in  the  heat  of  circumstances.  This 
question  had  just  been  put  to  him,  with  an  evidently 
philosophical  intention,  by  a  man  of  intellect  and 
observation  whom  he   had  made  a  prefect,  —  a  man 


294  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

who  was  long  a  journalist,  and  who  admired  the  prime 
minister  without  mingling  his  admiration  with  that 
touch  of  sour  criticism  by  which,  in  Paris,  one  supe- 
rior man  excuses  himself  for  admiring  another. 

"Has  there  been  in  your  earlier  life  any  fact, 
thought,  or  desire,  which  made  you  foresee  your  voca- 
tion?'  asked  Emile  Blondet;  "for  we  all  have,  like 
Newton,  our  particular  apple  which  falls,  and  takes 
us  to  the  sphere  in  which  our  faculties  can  develop." 

"Yes,"  replied  de  Marsay,  "and  I  '11  tell  you  about 
it." 

Pretty  women,  political  dandies,  artists,  old  men, 
de  Marsay's  intimates,  settled  themselves  comforta- 
bly, each  in  his  own  way,  and  looked  at  the  prime 
minister.  Is  it  necessary  to  say  that  the  servants  had 
left  the  dining-room,  that  the  doors  were  closed  and 
the  portieres  drawn?  The  silence  which  now  fell  was 
so  deep  that  the  murmur  of  the  coachmen's  voices  and 
the  stamping  of  the  horses  impatient  for  their  stable 
came  up  from  the  courtyard. 

"  A  statesman,  my  friends,  exists  through  one  qual- 
ity only,"  said  the  minister,  playing  with  his  pearl- 
handled  and  gold  dessert-knife.  "To  know  how  at 
all  moments  to  be  master  of  himself;  to  be  able,  on 
all  occasions,  to  meet  the  failure  of  events,  however 
unexpected  and  fortuitous  it  may  be;  in  short,  to 
have,  in  his  inner  self,  a  cold,  detached  being,  which 


Another  Study  of  Woman,  295 

looks  on  as  a  spectator  at  all  the  movements  of  our 
life,  our  passions,  our  sentiments,  and  which  inspires 
us,  apropos  of  all  things,  with  the  decision  of  a  species 
of  ready-reckoner." 

"  You  are  explaining  to  us  why  statesmen  are  so 
rare  in  France,"  said  old  Lord  Dudley. 

"From  a  sentimental  point  of  view  it  is  certainly 
horrible,"  said  the  minister,  "and  therefore  when 
this  phenomenon  appears  in  a  young  man  (Richelieu, 
warned  of  Concini's  danger  by  a  letter  over-night, 
slept  till  mid-day,  when  he  knew  his  benefactor  would 
be  killed  at  ten  o'clock),  that  young  man,  be  he 
Pitt,  or  Napoleon  if  you  like,  is  a  monstrosity.  I 
became  that  monster  very  early  in  life,  thanks  to  a 
woman." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Madame  de  Montcornet  (Virginie 
Blondet),  smiling,  "that  we  unmade  more  statesmen 
than  we  make." 

"The  monster  of  whom  I  speak  is  only  a  monster 
inasmuch  as  he  resists  your  sex,"  said  the  narrator, 
with  an  ironical  bow. 

"If  this  tale  relates  to  a  love-affair,"  said  the 
Baronne  de  Nucingen,  "  I  request  that  it  may  not  be 
interrupted  by  reflections." 

"Reflection  being  so  contrary  to  love,"  remarked 
Joseph  Bridau. 

"  I  was  nineteen  years  of  age,"  resumed  de  Marsay; 


296  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

"the  Restoration  was  becoming  re-established;  my 
oldest  friends  know  how  impetuous  and  fiery  I  then  was. 
I  was  in  love  for  the  first  time,  and  I  may,  at  this  late 
day,  be  allowed  to  say  that  I  was  one  of  the  hand- 
somest young  men  in  Paris.  I  had  youth  and  beauty, 
two  advantages  due  to  chance,  of  which  we  are  as 
proud  as  if  we  had  won  them.  I  say  nothing  about 
the  rest.  Like  all  young  men,  I  was  in  love  with  a 
woman  about  six  years  older  than  myself.  Only  one 
of  you,'*  he  said,  looking  round  the  table,  "will  guess 
her  name  or  recognize  her.  Ronquerolles  was  the 
only  one  in  those  days  who  fathomed  my  secret,  and 
he  kept  it  carefully.  I  might  fear  his  smile,  but  he 
seems  to  be  gone,"  said  the  minister,  again  looking 
about  him. 

"He  would  not  stay  to  supper,"  said  his  sister, 
Madame  de  Serizy. 

"  For  six  months  possessed  by  this  love,  but  inca- 
pable of  suspecting  that  it  mastered  me,"  continued 
the  minister,  "I  gave  myself  up  to  that  adorable 
worship  which  is  the  triumph  and  the  fragile  happiness 
of  youth.  I  treasured  her  glove,  I  drank  infusions  of 
the  flowers  she  had  worn,  I  rose  from  my  bed  to  go 
and  stand  beneath  her  windows.  All  my  blood  rushed 
to  my  heart  as  I  breathed  the  perfume  that  she  pre- 
ferred. I  was  then  a  thousand  leagues  from  suspect- 
ins  that  women  are  furnaces  above  and  marble  below." 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  297 

"  Ob,    spare   us   those   horrible   sentiments,"    said 
Madame  de  Camps,  laughing. 

"  I  would  then  have  blasted  with  contempt  the  philos- 
opher who  published  to  the  world  that  terrible  opin- 
ion, so  profoundly  true,"  replied  de  Marsay.  "You 
are  all  too  wise  and  witty  to  need  me  to  say  more  on 
that  point;  but  perhaps  the  rest  that  I  have  to  tell 
may  recall  to  you  your  own  follies.  Well,  —  a  great 
lady,  if  ever  there  was  one,  a  widow  without  children 
(oh!  she  had  every  advantage),  my  idol  went  so  far  as 
to  shut  herself  up  to  mark  my  handkerchiefs  with  her 
own  hair;  in  short,  she  responded  to  my  follies  with 
follies  of  her  own.  How  is  it  possible  not  to  believe 
in  a  passion  when  it  is  guaranteed  by  folly  ?  We  had 
put,  each  of  us,  all  our  wits  into  concealing  so  com- 
plete and  glorious  a  love  from  the  eyes  of  the  world ; 
and  we  succeeded.  Of  her,  I  shall  tell  you  nothing; 
perfect  in  those  days,  she  was  considered  until  quite 
recently  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Paris*,  at 
the  time  of  which  I  speak  men  would  have  risked 
death  to  obtain  her  favor.  She  was  left  in  a  satis- 
factory condition  as  to  fortune,  for  a  woman  who  loved 
and  was  beloved;  but  the  Restoration,  to  which  she 
was  indebted  for  higher  honors,  made  her  wealth 
insufficient  to  meet  the  requirements  of  her  name  and 
rank.  As  for  me,  I  had  the  self-conceit  that  conceives 
no  suspicions.     Although  my  natural  jealousy  had  in 


298  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

those  days  a  hundred-and-twenty-Othello  power,  that 
terrible  sentiment  slumbered  in  my  breast  like  gold  in 
its  nugget.  I  would  have  made  my  valet  flog  me  had 
I  felt  the  baseness  to  doubt  the  purity  and  fidelity  of 
that  angel,  so  frail,  so  strong,  so  fair,  so  naive,  so 
pure,  so  candid,  whose  blue  eyes  let  me  penetrate 
with  adorable  submission  to  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 
Never  the  least  hesitation  in  pose,  or  look,  or  word; 
always  white  and  fresh  and  tender  to  her  beloved 
as  the  eastern  lily  of  the  Song  of  Songs.  Ah,  my 
friends  I"  cried  the  minister,  sorrowfully,  becoming 
for  the  moment  a  young  man,  "We  must  knock  our 
heads  very  hard  against  the  marble  to  dispel  that 
poesy." 

This  cry  of  nature,  which  found  its  echo  among  the 
guests,  piqued  their  curiosity,  already  so  cleverly 
excited. 

"  Every  morning,  mounted  on  that  splendid  Sul- 
tan you  sent  me  from  England,"  he  said  to  Lord 
Dudley,  "  I  rode  past  her  caleche  and  read  my  orders 
for  the  day  in  her  bouquet,  prepared  in  case  we  were 
unable  to  exchange  a  few  words.  Though  we  saw 
each  other  nearly  every  evening  in  society,  and  she 
wrote  to  me  every  day,  we  had  invented,  in  order  to 
deceive  the  world  and  baffle  observation,  a  system  of 
behavior.  Not  to  look  at  each  other,  to  avoid  ever 
being  together,  to  speak  slightingly  of  each  other's 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  299 

qualities,  all  those  well-worn  manoeuvres  were  of  little 
value  compared  with  our  device  of  a  mutual  false 
devotion  to  an  indifferent  person,  and  an  air  of  indif- 
ference to  the  true  idol.  If  two  lovers  will  play  that 
game  they  can  always  dupe  society,  but  they  must  be 
very  sure  of  each  other.  Her  substitute  was  a  man 
high  in  court  favour,  cold,  devout,  whom  she  did  not 
receive  in  her  own  house.  Our.  comedy  was  only 
played  for  the  profit  of  fools  in  salons.  The  question 
of  marriage  had  not  been  mooted  between  us;  six 
years'  difference  in  our  ages  might  cause  her  to  reflect. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  amount  of  my  fortune,  which, 
on  principle,  I  have  always  concealed.  As  for  me, 
charmed  by  her  mind,  her  manners,  the  extent  of  her 
information  and  her  knowledge  of  the  world,  I  would 
fain  have  married  her  without  reflection.  And  yet 
her  reserve  pleased  me.  Had  she  been  the  first  to 
speak  to  me  of  marriage,  I  might  have  found  some- 
thing vulgar  in  that  accomplished  soul.  Six  full  and 
perfect  months!  a  diamond  of  the  purest  water!  That 
was  my  allowance  of  love  in  this  low  world.  One 
morning,  being  attacked  by  one  of  those  bone-fevers 
which  begin  a  severe  cold,  I  wrote  her  a  note  putting 
off  the  happiness  of  a  meeting  for  another  day.  No 
sooner  was  the  letter  gone  than  I  regretted  it.  '  She 
certainly  will  not  believe  that  I  am  ill,'  I  said  to 
myself;  for  she  was  fond  of  seeming  jealous  and  sus- 


300  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

picious.  When  jealousy  is  real,"  said  cle  Marsay, 
interrupting  himself,  "it  is  the  evident  sign  of  a 
single-minded  love." 

"  Why?  "  asked  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan,  eagerly. 

"A  true  and  single-minded  love,"  said  de  Marsay, 
"produces  a  sort  of  bodily  apathy  in  harmony  with 
the  contemplation  into  which  the  person  falls.  The 
mind  then  complicates  all  things;  it  works  upon  itself, 
it  sets  up  fantasies  in  place  of  realities,  which  only 
torture  it;  but  this  jealousy  is  as  fascinating  as  it  is 
embarrassing." 

A  foreign  minister  smiled,  recognizing  by  the  light 
of  memory  the  truth  of  this  remark. 

"Besides,  I  said  to  myself,  why  lose  a  happy 
clay?"  continued  de  Marsay,  resuming  his  narrative. 
"  Was  n't  it  better  to  go,  ill  as  I  was  ?  for,  if  she  thought 
me  ill  I  believed  her  capable  of  coming  to  see  me  and 
so  compromising  herself.  I  made  an  effort;  I  wrote  a 
second  letter,  and  as  my  confidential  man  was  not  on 
hand,  I  took  it  myself.  The  river  lay  between  us ;  I 
had  all  Paris  to  cross;  when  I  came  within  suitable 
distance  of  her  house  I  called  a  porter  and  told  him  to 
deliver  the  letter  immediately;  then  the  fine  idea  came 
into  my  head  of  driving  past  the  house  in  a  hackney- 
coach  to  see  if  the  letter  was  delivered  promptly. 
Just  as  I  passed  in  front  of  it,  about  two  o'clock  in 
the   afternoon,   the   great  gate  opened  to   admit   the 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  301 

carriage  of  —  whom  do  you  suppose?  The  substi- 
tute! It  is  fifteeu  years  since  that  happened;  well! 
as  I  tell  you  of  it,  this  exhausted  orator,  this  minister 
dried  to  the  core  by  contact  with  public  business,  still 
feels  the  boiling  of  something  in  his  heart  and  a  fire 
in  his  diaphragm.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  I  passed 
again,  —  the  carriage  was  still  in  the  courtyard ;  my 
note  had  doubtless  not  been  taken  up  to  her.  At  last, 
at  half-past  three  o'clock,  the  carriage  drove  away 
and  I  was  able  to  study  the  face  of  my  rival.  He 
was  grave,  he  did  not  smile ;  but  he  was  certainly  in 
love,  and  no  doubt  some  plan  was  in  the  wind.  At  the 
appointed  hour  I  kept  my  tryst ;  the  queen  of  my  soul 
was  calm  and  serene.  Here,  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
have  always  thought  Othello  not  only  stupid,  but  guilty 
of  very  bad  taste.  No  man  but  one  who  was  half  a 
negro  would  have  behaved  as  he  did.  Shakespeare 
felt  that  when  he  called  his  play  the  Moor  of  Venice. 
The  mere  sight  of  the  beloved  woman  has  something 
so  healing  to  the  heart,  that  it  dissipates  all  vexa- 
tions, doubts,  sorrows;  my  wrath  subsided  and  I 
smiled  again.  This  at  my  present  age,  would  have 
been  horribly  dissimulating,  but  then  it  was  simply 
the  result  of  my  youth  and  love.  My  jealousy  thus 
buried,  I  had  power  to  observe.  I  was  visibly  ill;  the 
horrible  doubts  which  had  tortured  me  increased  the 
appearance  of   illness,  and  she  showed  me  the  most 


44     4 
(4    4 


302  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

tender  solicitude.  I  found  occasion  however  to  slip 
in  the  words:  '  Had  you  any  visitor  this  morning?' 
explaining  that  I  had  wondered  how  she  would  amuse 
herself  after  receiving  my  first  note. 

"  'I?  '  she  said,  '  how  could  I  think  of  any  amuse- 
ment after  hearing  of  your  illness  ?  Until  your  second 
note  came  I  was  planning  how  to  go  to  you.' 

Then  you  were  quite  alone?  ' 

Quite,'  she  answered,  looking  at  me  with  so  per- 
fect an  expression  of  innocence  that  it  rivalled  that 
which  drove  the  Moor  to  kill  his  Desdemona.  As  she 
alone  occupied  her  house,  that  word  was  a  shocking 
falsehood.  A  single  lie  destroys  that  absolute  confi- 
dence which,  for  certain  souls,  is  the  basis  itself  of 
love.  To  express  to  you  what  went  on  within  me  at 
that  moment,  it  is  necessary  to  admit  that  we  have  an 
inner  being  of  which  the  visible  man  is  the  scabbard, 
and  that  that  being,  brilliant  as  light  itself,  is  deli- 
cate as  a  vapor.  Well,  that  glorious  inward  i"  was 
thenceforth  and  forever  clothed  in  crape.  Yes,  I  felt 
a  cold  and  fleshless  hand  placing  upon  me  the  shroud 
of  experience,  imposing  upon  my  soul  the  eternal 
mourning  which  follows  a  first  betrayal.  Lowering 
my  eyes  not  to  let  her  see  my  dazed  condition,  a 
proud  thought  came  into  my  mind  which  restored  to 
me  some  strength:  '  If  she  deceives  you  she  is  un- 
worthy of  you.'     I  excused  the  flush  in  my  face,  and 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  303 

a  few  tears  that  came  into  my  eyes,  on  the  ground  of 
increased  illness,  and  the  gentle  creature  insisted  on 
taking  me  home  in  her  carriage.  On  the  way  she  was 
tenderness  itself;  her  solicitude  would  have  deceived 
the  same  Moor  of  Venice  whom  I  take  for  my  point  of 
comparison.  In  fact,  if  that  big  child  had  hesitated 
two  seconds  longer  he  would,  as  any  intelligent  spec- 
tator divines,  have  asked  pardon  of  Desdemona. 
Therefore,  to  kill  a  woman  is  the  act  of  a  child.  She 
wept  as  she  left  me  at  my  own  door,  so  unhappy  was 
she  at  not  being  able  to  nurse  me  herself!  She 
wished  she  were  my  valet,  she  was  jealous  of  his  cares! 
All  this  was  written  to  me  the  next  day  as  a  happy 
Clarissa  might  have  written  it.  There  is  always  the 
soul  of  a  monkey  in  the  sweetest  and  most  angelic  of 
women !  " 

At  these  words  the  women  present  lowered  their 
eyes  as  if  wounded  by  a  cruel  truth  so  cruelly  stated. 

"  I  tell  you  nothing  of  the  night,  nor  of  the  week 
that  I  passed,"  continued  de  Marsay;  "  but  it  was 
then  that  I  saw  myself  a  statesman." 

Those  words  were  so  finely  uttered  that,  one  and  all, 
we  made  a  gesture  of  admiration. 

"  While  reflecting,  with  an  infernal  spirit,  on  all 
the  forms  of  cruel  vengeance  to  which  we  can  subject 
a  woman,"  continued  de  Marsay,  —  "  and  there  were 
many  and  irreparable  ones  in  this  case,  —  I  suddenly 


304  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

despised  rnyself ;  I  felt  that  I  was  commonplace,  and  I 
formulated,  insensibly,  a  dreadful  code,  that  of  Indul- 
gence. To  take  revenge  upon  a  woman,  does  not  such 
an  act  admit  that  there  is  but  one  woman  in  the  world 
for  us,  and  that  we  cannot  live  without  her?  If  so,  is 
vengeance  a  means  to  recover  her?  But  if  she  is  not 
indispensable  to  us,  if  there  are  others  for  us,  why 
not  allow  her  the  same  right  to  change  that  we  arro- 
gate to  ourselves?  This,  you  must  fully  understand, 
applies  only  to  passion;  otherwise  it  would  be  anti- 
social; nothing  proves  the  necessity  of  indissoluble 
marriage  more  than  the  instability  of  passion.  The 
two  sexes  need  to  be  chained  together  like  the  wild 
beasts  that  they  are,  in  laws  as  mute  and  unchange- 
able as  fate.  Suppress  revenge,  and  betrayal  becomes 
nothing  in  love,  its  teeth  are  drawn.  Those  who 
think  that  there  exists  but  one  woman  in  the  world 
for  them,  they  may  take  to  vengeance,  and  then  there 
is  but  one  form  for  it,  —  that  of  Othello.  Mine  was 
different;  it  was  this:  —  " 

The  last  three  words  produced  among  us  that  imper- 
ceptible movement  which  journalists  describe  in  par- 
liamentary debates  as  "  profound  sensation." 

"  Cured  of  my  cold  and  of  pure,  absolute,  divinest 
love,  I  let  myself  go  into  an  adventure  with  another 
heroine,  who  was  charming,  of  a  style  of  beauty  ex- 
actly opposite  to  that  of  my  deceiving  angel.     I  took 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  305 

good  care,  however,  not  to  break  with  that  very  clever 
creature  and  good  comedian,  for  I  don't  know  whether 
a  true  love  itself  can  give  more  graceful  enjoyments 
than  accomplished  treachery.  Such  hypocrisy  equals 
virtue.  I  don't  say  this  for  you  Englishmen,"  added 
the  minister,  gently,  addressing  Lady  Barimore,  daugh- 
ter of  Lord  Dudley.  "Well,  I  even  tried  to  fall  in 
love.  It  happened  that  I  wanted  for  this  new  angel  a 
little  gift  done  with  my  own  hair,  and  I  went  to  a  cer- 
tain artist  in  hair,  much  in  vogue  in  those  days,  who 
lived  in  the  rue  Boucher.  This  man  had  a  monopoly 
of  capillary  gifts,  and  I  give  his  address  for  the  bene- 
fit of  those  who  have  n't  much  hair  of  their  own ;  he 
keeps  locks  of  all  kinds  and  all  colors.  After  receiv- 
ing my  order,  he  showed  me  his  work.  I  then  saw 
productions  of  patience  surpassing  those  of  fairy  tales 
and  even  of  convicts;  and  he  put  me  up  to  all  the 
caprices  and  fashions  which  reigned  in  the  regions  of 
hair. 

"  'For  the  last  year,'  he  said  to  me,  '  there  has 
been  a  rage  for  marking  linen  with  hair;  happily,  I 
had  a  fine  collection  on  hand  and  excellent  work- 
women.' 

"Hearing  those  words,  a  suspicion  assailed  me;  I 
drew  out  my  handkerchief  and  said  to  him :  — 

"  'Probably  this  was  done  at  your  place,  with  false 
hair?' 

20 


306  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

"He  looked  attentively  at  the  handkerchief  and 
said:  — 

"  'That  lady  was  very  difficult  to  suit;  she  insisted 
on  matching  the  very  shade  of  her  hair.  My  wife 
marked  those  handkerchiefs  herself.  You  have  there, 
monsieur,  one  of  the  finest  things  of  the  kind  ever 
executed.' 

"  Before  this  last  flash  of  light  I  might  still  have 
believed  in  something;  I  could  still  have  given  some 
attention  to  a  woman's  word.  I  left  that  shop  having 
faith  in  pleasure,  but,  in  the  matter  of  love,  as  much 
of  an  atheist  as  a  mathematician.  Two  months  later 
I  was  seated  beside  my  ethereal  deceiver  on  a  sofa  in 
her  boudoir.  I  was  holding  one  of  her  hands,  which 
were  very  beautiful,  and  together  we  were  climbing 
the  Alps  of  sentiment,  gathering  flowers  by  the  way, 
plucking  the  leaves  from  the  daisies  (there  is  always 
a  moment  in  life  when  we  pluck  out  the  daisy  leaves, 
though  it  may  be  in  a  salon  where  daisies  are  not). 
At  the  moment  of  deepest  tenderness,  when  we  seem  to 
love  most,  love  is  so  conscious  of  its  want  of  duration 
that  one  feels  an  invincible  need  to  ask:  k  Dost  thou 
love  me?  '  —  '  Wilt  thou  love  me  always?  '  I  seized 
that  elegiac  moment,  so  warm,  so  flowery,  so  expan- 
sive, to  make  her  tell  her  finest  lies,  with  the  ravish- 
ing exaggerations  of  that  Gascon  poesy  peculiar  to 
love.     Charlotte  then  displayed  the  choicest   flowers 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  307 

of  her  deception :  she  could  not  live  without  me ;  I  was 
the  only  man  in  all  the  world  to  her;  yet  she  feared 
to  weary  me,  for  in  my  presence  her  mind  forsook 
her;  near  me  her  faculties  became  all  love;  she  was 
too  loving  not  to  have  many  fears;  of  late  she  had 
sought  a  means  to  attach  me  forever  to  her  side ;  but 
God  alone  could  do  that." 

The  women  who  were  listening  to  de  Marsay  seemed 
offended  by  his  mimicry;  for  he  accompanied  these 
words  with  pantomime,  poses  of  the  head,  and  affecta- 
tions of  manner,  which  conveyed  the  scene. 

"At  the  moment  when  I  was  expected  to  believe 
these  adorable  falsehoods,  I  said  to  her,  still  holding 
her  right  hand  in  mine :  —     « 

"  'When  do  you  marry  the  duke?' 

"The  thrust  was  so  direct,  my  glance  met  hers  so 
straight,  that  the  quiver  of  her  hand  lying  softly  in 
mine,  slight  as  it  was,  could  not  be  completely  dis- 
sembled ;  her  eyes  fell  before  mine,  and  a  slight  flush 
came  into  her  cheeks. 

"  '  The  duke! '  she  said,  feigning  the  utmost  aston- 
ishment.     '  What  can  you  mean? ' 

"  'I  know  all,'  I  replied;  '  in  my  opinion  you  had 
better  not  delay  the  marriage.  He  is  rich,  he  is  a 
duke ;  but  also,  he  is  religious,  —  more  than  that,  he  is 
a  bigot!  You  don't  seem  aware  how  urgent  it  is  that 
you  should  make  him  commit  himself  in  his  own  eyes 


308  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

and  before  God;  if  you  don't  do  this  soon  you  will 
never  attain  your  end.' 

"  'Is  this  a  dream?  '  she  said,  pushing  up  her  hair 
from  her  forehead  with  Malibran's  celebrated  gesture, 
fifteen  years  before  Malibran  ever  made  it. 

"  'Come,  don't  play  the  babe  unborn,  my  angel,'  I 
said,  trying  to  take  both  her  hands.  But  she  crossed 
them  in  front  of  her  with  an  angry  and  prudish  little 
air.  '  Marry  him,  I  am  willing,'  I  continued.  '  In 
fact,  I  strongly  advise  it.' 

"  '  But,'  she  said,  falling  at  my  feet,  '  there  's  some 
horrible  mistake  here ;  I  love  no  man  but  you  in  this 
world;  you  can  ask  me  for  any  proof  you  like.' 

"  'Rise,  my  dear,'  I  ^aid,  '  and  do  me  the  honor 
to  be  frank.' 

"  'Yes,  before  Heaven.' 

"  '  Do  you  doubt  my  love?  ' 

"  'No.' 

"  'My  fidelity?' 

"'No.' 

"'Well,  then,  I  have  committed  the  greatest  of 
crimes, '  I  went  on.  '  I  have  doubted  your  love  and 
your  fidelity;  and  I  have  looked  at  the  matter 
calmly  — ' 

"  'Calmly!  '  she  cried,  sighing.  *  Enough,  Henri, 
I  see  that  you  no  longer  love  me.' 

"You  observe  that  she  was  quick  to  seize  that  way 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  309 

of  escape.  In  such  scenes  an  adverb  is  often  very 
dangerous.  But  luckily  curiosity  induced  her  to 
add :  — 

"  'What  have  you  seen  or  heard?  Have  I  ever 
spoken  to  the  duke  except  in  society  ?  Have  you  ever 
noticed  in  my  eyes  —  ' 

"  'No,'  I  said,  'but  I  have  in  his.  You  have 
made  me  go  eight  times  to  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  to 
see  you  both  hearing  mass  together.' 

"'Ah!'  she  cried,  'at  last  I  have  made  you 
jealous!' 

"  'I  wish  I  could  be,'  I  replied,  admiring  the  sup- 
pleness of  that  quick  mind,  and  the  acrobatic  feats  by 
which  she  strove  to  blind  me.  '  But,  by  dint  of  going 
to  church,  I  have  become  an  unbeliever.  The  day  of 
my  first  cold  and  your  first  deception  you  received  the 
duke  when  you  thought  me  safe  in  bed,  and  you  told 
me  you  had  seen  no  man.' 

"  '  Do  you  know  that  your  conduct  is  infamous?  ' 

"  'How  so?  I  think  your  marriage  with  the  duke 
an  excellent  affair;  he  gives  you  a  fine  name,  the  only 
position  that  is  really  suitable  for  you,  an  honorable 
and  brilliant  future.  You  will  be  one  of  the  queens 
of  Paris.  I  should  do  you  a  great  wrong  if  I  placed 
any  obstacles  in  the  way  of  this  arrangement,  this 
honorable  life,  this  superb  alliance.  Ah!  some  day, 
Charlotte,  you  will  do  me  justice  by  discovering  how 


310  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

different  my  character  is  from  that  of  other  young 
men.  You  are  on  the  point  of  being  forced  to  break 
with  me,  and  yet  you  would  have  found  it  very  diffi- 
cult to  do  so.  The  duke  is  watching  you ;  his  virtue 
is  very  stern,  and  it  is  high  time  that  you  and  I  should 
part.  You  will  have  to  be  a  prude,  I  warn  you  of 
that.  The  duke  is  a  vain  man,  and  he  wants  to  be 
proud  of  his  wife.' 

"'Ah!'  she  said,  bursting  into  tears,  *  Henri,  if 
you  had  only  spoken  ! '  (you  see  she  was  determined  to 
put  the  blame  on  me)  —  '  yes,  if  you  had  wished  it  we 
could  have  lived  all  our  lives  together,  married,  happy 
before  the  world,  or  in  some  quiet  corner  of  it.' 

"  'Well,  it  is  too  late  now,'  I  said,  kissing  her 
hands  and  assuming  the  airs  of  a  victim. 

"  '  But  I  can  undo  it  all,'  she  said. 

"  '  No,  you  have  gone  too  far  with  the  duke.  I 
shall  even  make  a  journey,  to  separate  us  from  each 
other  more  completely.  We  should  each  have  to  fear 
the  love  of  our  own  hearts.' 

"'Do  you  think,  Henri,  that  the  duke  has  any 
suspicions  ?  ' 

"  'I  think  not,'  I  replied,  '  but  he  is  watching  you. 
Make  yourself  devote,  attend  to  your  religious  duties, 
for  the  duke  is  seeking  proof s ;  he  is  hesitating,  and 
you  ought  to  make  him  come  to  a  decision.' 

"She  rose,  took  two  turns  about  the  boudoir  in  a 


Another  Study  of  Woman,  311 

state  of  agitation  either  feigned  or  real;  then  she 
found  a  pose  and  a  glance  which  she  no  doubt  felt 
to  be  in  harmony  with  the  situation ;  for  she  stopped 
before  me,  held  out  her  hand,  and  said  in  a  voice  of 
emotion :  — 

"'  Henri,  you  are  a  loyal,  noble,  charming  man, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  you.' 

"This  was  excellent  strategy,  She  was  enchanting 
in  this  transition,  which  was  necessary  to  the  situa- 
tion in  which  she  wanted  to  stand  towards  me.  I 
assumed  the  attitude  and  manners  of  a  man  so  dis- 
tressed that  she  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me, 
almost  cast  me,  though  gently,  on  the  sofa,  saying, 
after  a  moment's  silence:  'I  am  deeply  grieved,  my 
friend.     You  love  me  truly?  ' 

"  'Oh,  yes.' 

"  ' Then  what  will  become  of  you? '  " 

Here  all  the  women  present  exchanged  glances. 

"  I  have  suffered  once  more  in  thus  recalling  her 
treachery,  but  at  any  rate  I  still  laugh  at  the  air  of 
conviction  and  soft  inward  satisfaction  which  she  felt, 
if  not  at  my  death,  at  least  at  my  eternal  unhappi- 
ness,"  continued  de  Marsay.  "  Oh!  you  needn't 
laugh  yet,"  he  said  to  the  guests;  "  the  best  is  still  to 
come.  I  looked  at  her  very  tenderly  after  a  pause, 
and  said :  — 

"  'Yes,  that  is  what  I  have  asked  myself.' 


312  Another  Study  of  Woman. 


u 


What  will  you  do  ?  ' 

I  asked  myself  that  question  the  morning  after 
the  cold  I  told  you  of. ' 

"  'And?  —  '  she  said,  with  visible  uneasiness. 

"  'I  began  to  pay  court  to  that  little  lady  whom  I 
had  for  my  substitute.' 

"Charlotte  sprang  up  from  the  sofa  like  a  frightened 
doe;  she  trembled  like  a  leaf,  as  she  cast  upon  me 
one  of  those  looks  in  which  a  woman  forgets  her  dig- 
nity, her  modesty,  her  craftiness,  even  her  grace,  — 
the  glittering  glance  of  a  hunted  viper,  forced  to  its 
hole,  —  and  said :  — 

I,  who  loved  him !    I,  who  struggled !    I,  who  —  ' 
On  that  third  idea,  which  I  leave  you  to  guess, 
she  made  the  finest  organ  pause  ears  ever  listened  to. 

"  '  Good  heavens!'  she  cried,  '  how  wretched  women 
are!  We  are  never  truly  loved.  There  is  nothing  real 
to  men  in  the  purest  sentiments.  But,  let  me  tell  you, 
though  you  trick  us,  you  are  still  our  dupes.' 

'"Sol  see,'  I  said  with  a  contrite  air.  '  You  have 
too  much  wit  in  your  anger  for  your  heart  to  suffer 
much.' 

"This  modest  sarcasm  redoubled  her  wrath;  she 
now  shed  tears  of  rage. 

"  'You  have  degraded  life  and  the  world  in  my 
eyes, '  she  said ;  '  you  have  torn  away  all  my  illusions, 
you  have  depraved  my  heart  —  ' 


Another  Study  of  Woman,  313 

"In  short,  she  said  to  me  all  that  I  had  the  right 
to  say  to  her,  with  a  bare-faced  simplicity,  a  naive 
effrontery,  which  would  certainly  have  got  the  better 
of  any  man  but  me. 

"  'What  will  become  of  us,  poor  hapless  women,  in 
the  social  life  which  Louis  XVIII. 's  Charter  has  crea- 
ted for  us?  Yes,  we  were  born  to  suffer.  As  for 
love,  we  are  always  above  you,  and  you  are  always 
below  us  in  loyalty.  None  of  you  have  honesty  in 
your  hearts.  For  you,  love  is  a  game  in  which  you 
think  it  fair  to  cheat.' 

"'Dear,'  I  said,  'to  take  things  seriously  in  our 
present  social  life  would  be  to  play  at  perfect  love 
with  an  actress.' 

"  'What  infamous  treachery!  '  she  cried.  '  So  this 
has  all  been  reasoned  out?  ' 

"  '  No;  it  is  simply  reasonable.' 

'"Farewell,  Monsieur  de  Marsay,'  she  said,-  'you 
have  deceived  me  shamefully.' 

"  'Will  Madame  la  duchesse,'  I  asked  in  a  submis- 
sive manner,  '  remember  Charlotte's  wrongs?  ' 

"  'Assuredly,'  she  said  in  a  bitter  tone. 

'"So  then,  you  detest  me?  ' 

"  She  inclined  her  head;  and  I  left  her  to  a  senti- 
ment which  allowed  her  to  think  that  she  had  some- 
thing to  avenge.  My  friends,  I  have  deeply  studied 
the  lives  of  men  who  have  had  success  with  women ; 


314  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

and  I  feel  sure  that  neither  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu, 
nor  Lauzun,  nor  Louis  de  Valois  ever  made,  for  the 
first  time,  so  able  a  retreat.  As  for  my  own  heart 
and  mind,  they  were  formed  then  and  forever;  and 
the  control  I  gained  over  the  unreflecting  impulses 
which  cause  us  to  commit  so  many  follies  gave  me  the 
coolness  and  self-possession  which  you  know  of." 

"  How  I  pity  the  second  woman!  "  said  the  Baronne 
de  Nucingen. 

An  almost  imperceptible  smile  which  flickered  for  a 
moment  on  de  Marsay's  pale  lips  made  Delphine  de 
Nucingen  color. 

"  How  people  forget!  "  cried  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 

The  naivete  of  the  celebrated  banker  had  such  suc- 
cess that  his  wife,  who  had  been  that  "  second  "  of  de 
Marsay,  could  not  help  laughing  with  the  rest  of  the 
company. 

"You  are  all  disposed  to  condemn  that  woman," 
said  Lady  Dudley,  "  but  I  can  understand  why  she 
should  not  consider  her  marriage  in  the  light  of  an 
inconstancy.  Men  never  will  distinguish  between 
constancy  and  fidelity.  I  knew  the  woman  whose 
history  Monsieur  de  Marsay  has  just  related ;  she  was 
one  of  the  last  of  your  great  ladies." 

"Alas!  you  are  right  there,"  said  de  Marsay. 
"  For  the  last  fifty  years  we  have  been  taking  part  in 
the  steady  destruction  of  all  social  distinctions.     We 


Another  Study  of  Woman,  315 

ought  to  have  saved  women  from  the  great  shipwreck, 
but  the  Civil  Code  has  passed  its  level  over  their 
heads.  However  terrible  the  words  may  be,  they 
must  be  said ;  the  duchess  is  disappearing,  and  so  is 
the  marquise.  As  for  baronesses  (I  ask  pardon  of 
Madame  de  Nucingen,  who  will  make  herself  a  true 
countess  when  her  husband  becomes  peer  of  France), 
the  baronesses  have  never  been  regarded  seriously." 

"Aristocracy  begins  with  the  viscountess,"  re- 
marked Blondet,   smiling. 

"  Countesses  will  remain,"  said  de  Marsay.  "An 
elegant  woman  will  always  be  more  or  less  a  countess, 
—  countess  of  the  Empire,  or  of  yesterday,  countess 
of  the  vieille  roche,  or,  as  they  say  in  Italy,  countess  of 
civility.  But  as  for  the  great  lady,  she  is  dead,  — dead 
with  the  grandiose  surroundings  of  the  last  century; 
dead  with  her  powder,  moucJies,  and  high-heeled  slip- 
pers, and  her  busked  corset  adorned  with  its  delta  of 
flowing  ribbons.  Duchesses  in  the  present  day  can 
pass  through  ordinary  doors  that  are  not  widened  to 
admit  a  hoop.  The  Empire  saw  the  last  of  the  trained 
gowns.  Napoleon  little  imagined  the  effects  of  the 
Code  of  which  he  was  so  proud.  That  man,  by  creat- 
ing his  duchesses,  generated  the  race  of  comme  ilfaut 
women  whom  we  see  to-day,  —  the  resulting  product 
of  his  legislation." 

"  Thought,  used  as  a  hammer   by  the  lad  leaving 


316  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

school  and  the  nameless  journalist,  has  demolished 
the  splendors  of  the  social  state,"  said  the  Comte  de 
Vandenesse.  "To-day,  any  absurd  fellow  who  can 
hold  his  head  above  a  collar,  cover  his  manly  breast 
with  half  a  yard  of  satin  in  the  form  of  a  waistcoat, 
present  a  brow  shining  with  apocryphal  genius  under 
his  frizzed  hair,  and  blunder  along  in  varnished  pumps 
and  silk  socks  costing  half  a  dozen  francs,  now  wears 
a  glass  in  the  arch  of  one  eye  by  squeezing  his  cheek 
against  it  and,  —  whether  he  's  a  lawyer's  clerk,  the 
son  of  a  contractor,  or  a  banker's  bastard,  —  ogles 
impertinently  the  prettiest  duchess,  rates  her  charms 
as  she  comes  down  the  staircase  of  a  theatre,  and  says 
to  his  friend  (clothed  by  Buisson,  like  the  rest  of  us), 
'There,  my  dear  fellow,  is  a  comme  ilfaut  woman.' 

"You  have  never  made  yourselves,"  said  Lord 
Dudley,  "into  a  party;  it  will  be  long  now  before 
you  have  any  place  politically.  A  great  deal  has 
been  said  in  France  about  organizing  labor,  but 
property  has  never  yet  organized.  Here  is  what  is 
happening  to  you :  A  duke,  no  matter  who  (there  were 
still  a  few  under  Louis  XVIII.  and  Charles  X.  who 
possessed  two  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,  a  splen- 
did mansion,  and  a  retinue  of  servants), — that  duke 
could  still  behave  like  a  great  seigneur.  The  last  of 
these  great  French  lords  is  the  Prince  de  Talleyrand. 
This  duke  dies,  and,  let  us  suppose,  leaves  four  chil- 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  317 

dren,  two  of  whom  are  daughters.  Each  of  these 
heirs,  supposing  that  he  has  managed  to  marry  them 
well,  will  inherit,  at  most,  sixty  to  eighty  thousand 
francs  a  year;  each  is  father  or  mother  of  several 
children,  consequently  obliged  to  live  on  one  floor, 
probably  the  ground-floor,  of  a  house,  with  the  strictest 
economy,  —  it  may  be  that  they  are  even  obliged  to 
borrow  money.  The  wife  of  the  eldest  son,  who  is  a 
duchess  in  name  only,  has  neither  carriage,  nor  ser- 
vants, nor  opera-box,  nor  time  of  her  own ;  she  has  n't 
even  her  own  suite  of  rooms  in  a  family  mansion,  nor 
her  own  fortune,  nor  her  personal  baubles.  She  is 
buried  in  marriage  as  a  wife  of  the  rue  Saint  Denis  is 
buried  in  commerce;  she  buys  the  socks  of  her  dear 
little  babes,  feeds  and  teaches  her  daughters,  whom 
she  no  longer  puts  to  school  in  a  convent.  Your 
women  of  rank  simply  sit  upon  their  nests." 

"Alas,  yes!"  said  Joseph  Bridau.  "Our  epoch 
no  longer  possesses  those  exquisite  feminine  flowers 
which  adorned  the  great  centuries  of  the  French  mon- 
archy. The  fan  of  the  great  lady  is  broken.  Woman 
no  longer  blushes,  whispers  sly  malice,  hides  her  face 
behind  her  fan  only  to  show  it,  —  the  fan  serves  merely 
to  fan  her!  When  a  thing  is  no  longer  anything  but 
what  it  is,  it  is  too  useful  to  belong  to  luxury." 

"Everything  in  France  has  assisted  in  producing 
the   comme   il  faut  woman,"  said   Daniel   d'Arthez. 


318  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

"  The  aristocracy  has  consented  to  this  state  of  things 
by  retreating  to  its  estates  to  hide  and  die,  —  emigrat- 
ing to  the  interior  before  ideas  as  formerly  it  emi- 
grated to  foreign  parts  before  the  populace.  Women 
who  could  have  founded  European  salons,  controlled 
opinion  and  turned  it  like  a  glove,  who  should  have 
ruled  the  world  by  guiding  the  men  of  art  and  thought 
who  outwardly  ruled  it,  have  committed  the  fatal 
blunder  of  abandoning  their  ground,  ashamed  to  have 
to  struggle  with  a  bourgeoisie  intoxicated  by  power 
and  making  its  debut  on  the  world's  stage  only,  per- 
haps, to  be  hacked  in  pieces  by  the  barbarians  who 
are  at  its  heels.  Where  the  bourgeois  affects  to  see 
princesses,  there  are  none  but  so-called  fashionable 
women.  Princes  no  longer  find  great  ladies  to  distin- 
guish ;  they  cannot  even  render  famous  a  woman  taken 
from  the  ranks.  The  Due  de  Bourbon  was  the  last 
prince  to  use  that  privilege." 

"  And  Heaven  knows  what  it  cost  him!  "  said  Lord 
Dudley. 

"The  press  follows  suit,"  remarked  Rastignac. 
"  Women  no  longer  have  the  charm  of  spoken  feuille- 
tons,  delightful  satires  uttered  in  choicest  language. 
In  like  manner  we  now-a-days  read  feuilletons  written 
in  a  patois  which  changes  every  three  years,  and 
"little  journals,"  as  lively  as  undertakers,  and  as 
light  as  the  lead  of  their  own  type.     French  conversa- 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  319 

tion  is  now  carried  ou  in  revolutionary  Iroquois  from 
end  to  end  of  France,  where  the  long  printed  col-urnns 
of  the  newspapers  take  the  place  in  ancient  mansions 
of  those  brilliant  coteries  of  men  and  women  who  con- 
versed there  in  former  days." 

"The  knell  of  Great  Society  has  sounded,  do  you 
know  it?"  said  a  Russian  prince;  "and  the  first 
stroke  of  its  iron  tongue  is  your  modern  French  term: 
fe7?ime  comme  il  faut." 

"You  are  right,  prince,"  said  cle  Marsay.  "That 
woman,  issuing  from  the  ranks  of  the  nobility,  or 
growing  from  the  bourgeoisie,  coming  from  any  and 
every  region,  even  the  provinces,  is  the  expression  of 
the  spirit  of  our  day,  — a  last  image  of  good  taste,  wit, 
intellect,  grace,  and  distinction  united,  but  all  diminish- 
ing. We  shall  see  no  more  grandes  dames  in  France, 
but  for  a  long  time  still  to  come  there  will  be  comme 
il  faut  women,  sent  by  public  opinion  to  the  Upper 
Feminine  Chamber,  — women  who  will  be  to  the  fair 
sex  what  the  '  gentleman  '  is  among  his  fellows  in 
England." 

"And  they  call  that  progress!  "  said  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches.  "  I  would  like  to  know  what  progress 
is." 


u 


This,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen:  "Formerly  a 
woman  might  have  the  voice  of  a  fish-wife,  the  walk 
of  a  grenadier,  the  forehead  of  the  boldest  hussy,  a 


320  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

fat  foot,  a  thick  band,  but  nevertheless  that  woman 
was  a  '  great  lady ' ;  but  now,  be  she  a  Montmorency, 
—  if  the  Demoiselles  de  Montmorency  could  ever  have 
such  attributes,  —  she  would  not  be  a  woman  comme 
il  faut." 

"What  is  meant  by  a  woman  comme  il  fairt?" 
asked  Comte  Adam  Laginski,  naively. 

"  She  's  a  modern  creation,  a  deplorable  triumph  of 
the  elective  system  applied  to  the  fair  sex,"  said  de 
Marsay.  "Every  revolution  has  its  term,  or  saying, 
in  which  it  is  summed  up  and  described.  Our  social 
revolution  has  ended  in  the  comme  il  faut  woman." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  Russian  prince,  who  had 
come  to  Paris  to  make  himself  a  literary  reputation. 
"  To  explain  certain  terms  or  sayings  added  century 
by  century  to  your  noble  language,  would  be  to  write 
a  glorious  history.  Organize,  for  instance,  is  the 
word  of  the  Empire;  it  contains  Napoleon  —  the  whole 
of  him." 

"But  all  that  is  not  telling  us  what  you  mean  by 
the  woman  comme  ilfaut"  cried  the  young  Pole,  with 
some  impatience. 

I'll   explain   her   to  you,"  said   Emile   Blondet. 

On  a  fine  morning  you  are  lounging  about  Paris.  It 
is  more  than  two  o'clock,  but  not  yet  five.  You  see  a 
woman  coming  towards  you;  the  first  glance  you  cast 
upon  her  is  like  the  preface  to  a  fine  book;  it  makes 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  321 

you  anticipate  a  world  of  refined  and  elegant  things. 
Like  the  botanist  crossing  hill  and  vale  as  he  her- 
borizes, among  all  varieties  of  Parisian  commonness 
you  have  found  a  rare  flower.  Either  this  woman  is 
accompanied  by  two  very  distinguished-looking  men, 
one  of  whom  is  decorated,  or  by  a  footman  in  undress 
livery  who  follows  her  at  a  little  distance.  She  wears 
neither  startling  colors,  nor  open-worked  stockings, 
nor  over-ornamental  buckles,  nor  drawers  with  em- 
broidered frills  visible  at  her  ancles.  You  notice 
that  her  shoes  are  either  prunella,  with  strings  crossed 
on  the  instep  over  thread  stockings  of  extreme  fine- 
ness, or  gray  silk  stockings  that  are  perfectly  plain; 
or  else  she  wears  dainty  little  boots  of  exquisite  sim- 
plicity. Some  pretty  and  not  expensive  stuff  makes 
you  notice  her  gown,  the  shape  of  which  surprises  the 
bourgeoises;  it  is  almost  always  a  pelisse,  fastened 
by  knots  of  ribbon  and  delicately  edged  with  a  silken 
cord  or  an  almost  imperceptible  binding.  The  lady 
has  an  art  of  her  own  in  putting  on  a  shawl  or  a  man- 
tle; she  knows  how  to  wrap  it  from  her  waist  to  her 
throat,  forming  a  sort  of  carapace  which  would  make 
a  bourgeoise  look  like  a  tortoise,  but  under  which  the 
comme  it  faut  woman  contrives  to  indicate  a  beautiful 
figure  while  concealing  it.  How?  by  what  means? 
That  is  a  secret  which  she  keeps,  without  the  protec- 
tion of  any  patent.     She  walks  with,  a  certain  concen- 

21 


322  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

trie  and  harmonious  motion,  which  makes  her  sweet 
alluring  figure  quiver  under  the  stuffs  as  an  adder  at 
mid-day  makes  the  green  turf  above  him  move.  Does 
she  owe  to  angel  or  devil  that  graceful  undulation 
which  plays  beneath  the  black  silk  mantle,  sways  the 
lace  of  its  border,  and  sheds  a  balmy  air  which  I  shall 
venture  to  call  the  breeze-Parisian.  You  remark  upon 
her  arms,  about  her  waist,  around  her  neck,  a  science  of 
folds  draping  even  a  restive  stuff,  which  reminds  you 
of  the  antique  Mnemosyne.  Ah  !  how  well  she  under- 
stands—  forgive  me  the  expression  —  the  methods  of 
gait.  Examine  well  the  way  in  which  she  advances 
her  foot,  moulding  an  outline  beneath  her  gown  with 
a  decent  precision  which  excites  the  admiration, 
restrained  by  respect,  of  those  who  pass  her.  If  an 
Englishwoman  tried  that  walk  she  would  look  like  a 
grenadier  marching  to  the  assault  of  a  redoubt.  To 
the  woman  of  Paris  belongs  the  genius  of  gait.  The 
municipality  has  long  owed  her  our  coming  asphalt 
pavements.  You  will  observe  that  this  lady  jostles 
no  one.  In  order  to  pass,  she  stands  still,  waiting 
with  proud  modesty  until  way  is  made  for  her.  Her 
attitude,  both  tranquil  and  disdainful,  obliges  the 
most  insolent  dandy  to  step  aside.  Her  bonnet,  of 
remarkable  simplicity,  has  fresh  strings.  Possibly, 
there  may  be  flowers  upon  it;  but  the  cleverest  of 
these  women  wear  only  ribbons.     Feathers  require  a 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  323 

carriage,  flowers  attract  the  eye.  Beneath  the  bonnet 
yon  see  the  cool  and  restful  face  of  a  woman  who  is 
sure  of  herself,  but  without  self-conceit;  who  looks 
at  nothing,  but  sees  all;  and  whose  vanity,  lulled  by 
continual  gratification,  gives  to  her  countenance  an 
expression  of  indifference  which  piques  curiosity. 
She  knows  she  is  being  studied;  she  is  well  aware 
that  nearly  every  one,  even  women,  turn  round  to  look 
at  her.  She  passes  through  Paris  like  a  film  of  gos- 
samer, as  white  and  as  pearly.  This  beautiful  species 
of  the  sex  prefers  the  warmest  latitudes  and  the  clean- 
est longitudes  in  Paris;  you  will  therefore  find  her 
between  the  10th  and  the  110th  arcade  of  the  rue  de 
Rivoli,  along  the  line  of  the  boulevards,  from  the 
equator  of  the  Panorama,  where  the  productions  of  the 
Indies  flourish  and  the  finest  creations  of  industry  are 
blooming,  to  the  cape  of  the  Madeleine;  you  will  find 
her  also  in  the  least  muddy  regions  of  the  bourgeoisie, 
between  number  30  and  number  150  of  the  rue  du 
Faubourg-Saint-Honore.  During  the  winter  she  takes 
her  pleasure  on  the  terrace  of  the  Feuillants,  and  not 
upon  the  bituminous  pavements  which  skirt  it.  Ac- 
cording to  weather,  she  glides  through  the  alleys  of 
the  Champs  Elysees.  Never  will  you  meet  this  charm- 
ing variety  of  womankind  in  the  hyperboreal  regions 
of  the  rue  Saint-Denis,  never  in  the  Kamtschatka  of 
muddy  streets  small  and  commercial,  and  never  any- 


324  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

where  in  rainy  weather.  These  flowers  of  Paris,  open- 
ing to  the  suu,  perfume  the  promenades  and  fold  their 
leaves  by  five  in  the  afternoon  like  a  convolvulus. 
The  women  whom  you  will  see  later  having  slightly 
the  same  air  and  trying  to  imitate  them  are  another 
race.  This  fair  unknown,  the  Beatrice  of  our  day, 
is  the  comme  il  faut  woman. 

"  It  is  not  always  easy,  my  dear  count,"  said  Blonde t, 
interrupting  himself  for  a  moment,  "  for  foreigners  to 
perceive  the  differences  by  which  a  connoisseur  emeri- 
tus distinguishes  the  two  species,  for  women  are  born 
comedians.  But  those  differences  strike  the  e}7e  of 
all  Parisians :  hooks  are  visible,  tapes  show  their  yel- 
lowish white  through  a  gap  at  the  back  of  the  gown; 
shoes  are  worn  at  heel,  bonnet  strings  have  been 
ironed,  the  gown  puffs  out  too  much,  the  bustle  is  flat- 
tened. You  notice  a  sort  of  effort  in  the  premeditated 
lowering  of  the  eyelids.  The  attitude  is  conventional. 
As  for  the  bourgeoise,  it  is  impossible  to  confound 
her  with  the  woman  who  is  comme  il  faut ;  she  makes 
an  admirable  foil  to  her,  she  explains  the  charm  the 
unknown  lady  has  cast  upon  you.  The  bourgeoise  is 
busy;  she  is  out  in  all  weathers;  comes  and  goes  and 
trots;  is  undecided  whether  she  will,  or  whether  she 
will  not  enter  a  shop.  Where  the  comme  il  faut  woman 
knows  perfectly  well  what  she  wants  and  what  she 
means   to  do,  the  bourgeoise  is  undecided,  pulls  up 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  325 

her  gown  to  cross  a  gutter,  drags  a  child  after  her,  and 
is  forced  to  watch  for  carriages;  she  is  a  mother  in 
public  and  lectures  her  daughter;  carries  money  in  a 
handbag  and  wears  open-work  stockings,  a  boa  above 
a  fur  cape  in  winter,  and  a  shawl  with  a  scarf  in  sum- 
mer, —  the  bourgeoise  is  an  adept  at  the  pleonasms 
of  the  toilet.  As  for  your  Beatrice,  you  will  find  her 
in  the  evening  at  the  Opera,  or  in  a  ballroom.  She 
then  appears  under  an  aspect  so  different  that  you 
fancy  her  two  creations  without  analogy.  The  woman 
has  issued  from  her  morning  vestments  like  a  butter- 
fly from  its  larva.  She  serves,  as  a  dainty  to  your 
raptured  eyes,  the  form  which  her  shawl  scarce  out- 
lined in  the  morning.  At  the  theatre  the  woman  of 
society  never  goes  higher  than  the  second  tier  of 
boxes,  unless  at  the  Italian  opera.  You  can  therefore 
study  at  your  ease  the  judicious  slowness  of  her  move- 
ments. This  adorable  manoeuvrer  uses  all  the  little 
artifices  of  woman's  policy  with  a  natural  ease  that 
precludes  the  idea  of  art  and  premeditation.  Is  her 
hand  royally  beautiful,  the  most  suspicious  man  would 
believe'  it  absolutely  necessary  to  roll,  or  fasten  up, 
or  toss  aside  whichever  ringlet  or  curl  she  may  touch. 
Has  she  nobility  of  profile,  you  will  think  she  is 
merely  giving  irony  or  charm  to  what  she  says  to  her 
neighbor,  by  turning  her  head  in  a  manner  to  produce 
that   magic  effect,  so  dear   to  great   painters,  which 


326  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

draws  the  light  to  the  cheek,  defines  the  nose  with  a 
clear  outline,  illumines  the  pink  of  the  nostril,  carves 
the  forehead  with  sharp  prominence,  and  leaves  a 
touch  of  high  light  on  the  chin.  If  she  has  a  pretty 
foot  she  throws  herself  on  a  sofa  with  the  coquetry  of 
a  cat  in  the  sunshine,  her  feet  forward,  without  your 
seeing  anything  more  in  that  pretty  pose  than  a 
charming  model  for  lassitude  offered  to  a  sculptor. 
No  other  woman  but  the  woman  comme  ilfaut  is  ever 
perfectly  at  her  ease  in  her  clothes;  nothing  disturbs 
her.  You  will  never  see  her  putting  in  place,  like  a 
bourgeoise,  a  recalcitrant  shoulder-knot,  or  looking  to 
see  if  the  lace  of  her  chemisette  accomplishes  its  office 
of  unfaithful  guardian  to  the  sparkling  whiteness  of 
her  bosom;  never  will  you  find  her  looking  in  a  mirror 
to  discover  if  her  coiffure  is  perfectly  intact.  Her 
toilet  is  always  in  harmony  with  her  character;  she 
has  had  time  to  study  herself  and  to  decide  what  suits 
her ;  she  has  long  known  what  does  not  suit  her.  You 
never  see  her  when  the  audience  of  a  theatre  disperses ; 
she  departs  before  the  end  of  the  play.  If  by  chance 
she  is  seen,  calm  and  sedate,  upon  the  steps  of  the 
staircase,  some  powerful  sentiment  has  prompted  her. 
She  is  there  to  order;  she  has  some  look  to  give,  some 
promise  to  receive.  Perhaps  she  is  descending  slowly 
to  gratify  the  vanity  of  a  slave  whom  she  occasion- 
ally obeys.     If  you  meet  her  in  society,  at  a  ball  or  a 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  327 

soiree,  you  will  gather  the  honey,  real  or  affected,  of 
her  practised  voice;  you  will  be  enchanted  with  her 
empty  talk,  to  which  she  contrives  to  impart  the  sem- 
blance of  thought  with  inimitable  skill  —  " 

44  Then  it  is  n't  necessary  for  the  comme  il  faut 
woman  to  have  intellect  ?"  said  the  young  Polish 
count. 

"It  is  impossible  to  be  that  kind  of  woman  without 
taste,"  said  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan. 

"  And  to  have  taste  is,  in  France,  to  have  more 
than  mind,"  said  the  Russian  prince. 

44  The  mind  of  this  woman  is  the  triumph  of  an  art 
that  is  wholly  plastic,"  replied  Blondet.  44  You  don't 
know  what  she  says,  but  you  are  charmed.  She  has 
nodded  her  head  or  sweetly  shrugged  her  handsome 
shoulders,  or  gilded  some  meaningless  phrase  with  a 
smile  or  a  charming  pout,  or  put  Voltaire's  epigram 
into  an  '  Oh !  '  an  'Ah!  'an  'Is  it  possible?'  The 
turn  of  her  head  is  an  active  interrogation ;  she  gives 
meaning  of  some  kind  to  the  movement  with  which 
she  dances  a  vinaigrette  fastened  by  a  chain  to  her 
finger.  These  are  artificial  great  effects  obtained 
by  superlatively  small  ones:  she  lets  her  hand  fall 
nobly  from  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and  all  is  said ;  she 
has  rendered  judgment  without  appeal  fit  to  move  the 
most  insensible.  She  has  listened  to  you,  she  has 
given  you  an  opportunity  to  show  your  wit;  and  —  I 


328  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

appeal  to  your  modesty  —  such  momeuts  in  society  are 


rare." 


The  innocent  air  of  the  young  Pole  whom  Blondet 
was  addressing  made  every  one  laugh  heartily. 

"You  can't  talk  half  an  hour  with  a  bourgeoise 
before  she  brings  to  light  her  husband  under  one  form 
or  another,"  continued  Blondet,  whose  gravity  did  not 
give  way ;  "  but  if  your  comme  ilfaut  woman  is  married 
she  has  the  tact  to  conceal  her  husband,  and  the  labor 
of  Christopher  Columbus  would  hardly  enable  you  to 
discover  him.  If  you  have  not  been  able  to  question 
others  on  this  point,  you  will  see  her  toward  the  end  of 
the  evening  fix  her  eyes  steadily  on  a  man  of  middle 
age,  who  inclines  his  head  and  leaves  the  room ;  she 
has  told  her  husband  to  call  up  the  carriage,  and  she 
departs.  In  her  own  house  no  comme  il  faut  woman 
is  ever  visible  before  four  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which 
she  receives.  She  is  wise  enough  to  make  you  wait 
even  then.  You  will  find  good  taste  throughout  her 
house;  her  luxury  is  intended  for  use,  and  is  renewed 
when  needful ;  you  will  see  nothing  there  under  glass 
cases,  nor  any  swathings  of  protective  gauze.  The 
staircase  is  warm;  flowers  gladden  you  everywhere; 
flowers  are  the  only  presents  she  accepts,  and  those 
from  a  few  persons  only ;  bouquets  give  pleasure  and 
live  for  a  single  day  and  are  then  renewed.  To  her 
they  are,  as  in  the  East,  a  symbol  and   a  promise. 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  329 

The  costly  trifles  of  fashion  are  spread  about,  but  her 
salons  are  not  turned  into  a  museum  or  an  old  curi- 
osity shop.  You  will  find  her  seated  on  a  sofa  at  the 
corner  of  the  fireplace,  whence  she  will  bow  to  you 
without  rising.  Her  conversation  is  no  longer  that 
of  the  ballroom;  in  her  own  house  she  is  bound  to 
entertain  you.  The  comme  il  faut  woman  possesses 
all  these  shades  of  behaviour  in  perfection.  She  wel- 
comes in  you  a  man  who  will  swell  the  circle  of  her 
society,  the  great  object  of  the  cares  and  anxieties  of 
all  women  of  the  world.  Consequently,  to  attach  you 
to  her  salon  she  will  make  herself  charmingly  coquet- 
tish. You  will  feel  above  all,  in  that  salon,  how 
isolated  women  are  in  the  present  day  and  why  they 
endeavor  to  have  a  little  society  about  them  in  which 
they  can  shine  as  constellations.  But  this  is  the 
death  of  conversation;  conversation  is  impossible 
without  generalities." 

"  Yes,"  said  de  Marsay,  "  you  have  seized  upon  the 
great  defect  of  our  epoch.  Epigram,  that  book  in  a 
word,  no  longer  falls,  as  in  the  eighteenth  century,  on 
persons  and  on  things,  but  on  petty  events  and  dies 
with  the  day." 

"  The  wit  of  the  comme  il  faut  woman,  when  she 
has  any,"  resumed  Blondet,  "consists  in  putting  a 
doubt  on  everything,  while  the  bourgeoise  uses  hers 
to   affirm  everything.     There  lies  a   great   difference 


830  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

between  the  two  women.  The  bourgeoise  is  certain 
of  her  virtue;  the  comme  il  faut  woman  is  not  sure  if 
she  has  any  yet,  or  if  she  has  always  had  it.  This 
hesitation  about  all  things  is  one  of  the  last  graces 
our  horrible  epoch  has  granted  her.  She  seldom  goes 
to  church,  but  she  will  talk  religion  to  you  and  try  to 
convert  you,  if  you  have  the  good  sense  to  play  the 
free  thinker,  for  that  will  open  the  way  to  the  stereo- 
typed phrases,  the  motions  of  the  head  and  the  ges- 
tures which  belong  to  such  women:  'Ah,  fy  !  I  thought 
you  had  more  intelligence  than  to  attack  religion. 
Society  is  crumbling  already  and  you  remove  its 
prop.  But  religion  at  this  moment  is  you  and  I,  it  is 
property,  it  is  the  future  of  our  children!  Ah!  let  us 
not  be  egotists.  Individualism  is  the  disease  of  our 
epoch,  and  religion  is  the  sole  remedy;  it  unites  the 
families  that  your  laws  disunite,'  etc.,  etc.  She  begins 
in  this  way  a  neo-Christian  sermon  sprinkled  with 
political  ideas,  which  is  neither  Catholic  nor  Protest- 
ant, but  moral  (oh!  devilishly  moral),  in  which  you 
will  find  scraps  of  every  stuff  that  modern  doctrines 
driven  to  bay  have  woven." 

The  women  present  could  not  help  laughing  at  the 
mincing  affectations  of  their  sex  with  which  Emile 
Blondet  illustrated  his  sarcasms. 

"Those  remarks,  my  dear  Comte  Adam,"  said 
Blondet,  looking  at  the  young  Pole,  "  will  show  you 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  331 

that  the  comme  il  faut  woman  represents  intellectual 
hotch-potch  as  well  as  political  jumble;  just  as  she 
lives  surrounded  by  the  brilliant  but  not  lasting  pro- 
ducts of  modern  industry,  which  aims  at  the  destruc- 
tion of  its  work  in  order  to  replace  it.  You  will  leave 
her  house  saying  to  yourself,  '  She  has,  decidedly, 
very  superior  ideas ;  '  and  you  think  so  all  the  more 
because  she  has  sounded  your  heart  and  mind  with  a 
delicate  hand;  she  has  sought  your  secrets,  —  for  the 
comme  il  faut  woman  feigns  ignorance  of  everything, 
in  order  to  discover  everything;  but  she  is  discreet; 
there  are  things  she  never  knows,  however  well  she 
may  know  them.  Nevertheless  you  will  feel  uneasy, 
you  are  ignorant  of  the  real  state  of  her  heart.  For- 
merly the  great  ladies  loved  openly,  banners  dis- 
played; now  the  woman  comme  il  faut  has  her  little 
passion  ruled  like  a  sheet  of  music  paper  with  its 
crotchets  and  quavers,  its  minims,  rests,  and  sharps 
and  flats.  Always  weak,  she  will  neither  sacrifice  her 
love,  her  husband,  nor  the  future  of  her  children. 
She  's  a  woman  of  Jesuitical  middle-paths,  of  squint- 
eyed  temporizing  with  conventions,  of  unavowed  pas- 
sions carried  along  between  two  breakwaters.  She 
fears  her  servants  like  an  Englishwoman  who  sees 
before  her  the  perspective  of  a  divorce  suit.  This 
woman,  so  apparently  at  her  ease  in  a  ballroom,  so 
charming  on  the  street,  is  a  slave  at  home.     She  has 


332  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

no  independence,  unless  locked  in  with  her  own  ideas. 
She  is  determined  to  remain  outwardly  the  woman 
comme  il  faut.  That 's  her  theory  of  life.  A  woman 
separated  from  her  husband,  reduced  to  a  pittance, 
without  carriage  or  luxury  or  opera-box,  is  to-day 
neither  wife,  maid,  nor  bourgeoise;  she  dissolves, 
she  becomes  a  thing.  What  is  to  become  of  her? 
The  Carmelites  won't  take  married  women;  will  her 
lover  always  want  her?  that's  a  question.  There- 
fore the  comme  il  faut  woman  may  sometimes  give 
rise  to  calumny,  but  never  to  condemnation." 

"  That  is  all  true,  horribly  true,"  said  the  Princesse 
de  Cadignan. 

"  Consequently,  the  comme  il  faut  woman,"  con- 
tinued Blondet,  "lives  between  English  hypocrisy 
and  the  frankness  of  the  eighteenth  century,  —  a  bas- 
tard system  emblematic  of  a  period  when  nothing 
that  comes  is  like  that  which  goes,  when  transitions 
lead  nowhere,  when  the  great  figures  of  the  past  are 
blotted  out,  and  distinctions  are  purely  personal.  In 
my  opinion  it  is  impossible  for  a  woman,  even  though 
she  be  born  on  the  steps  of  a  throne,  to  acquire  before 
the  age  of  twenty-five,  the  encyclopedic  science  of 
nothings,  the  art  of  manoeuvring,  the  various  great 
little  things,  —  music  of  the  voice,  harmonies  of 
color,  angelic  deviltries  and  innocent  profligacy,  the 
language  and  the  silence,  the  gravity  and  the  folly, 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  333 

the  wit  and  the  dulness,  the  diplomacy  and  the  igno- 
rance which  constitute  the  woman  comme  ilfaut." 

"  Accepting  the  description  you  have  just  given  of 
her,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  Emile  Blondet, 
"where  do  you  class  the  woman-author?  Is  she  a 
woman  comme  il  faut  ?  " 

"  When  she  is  not  gifted  with  genius,  she  is  a  woman 
comme  il  n*en  faut  pas,"  replied  Emile  Blondet,  ac- 
companying his  answer  with  a  glance  which  might 
pass  for  a  frank  compliment  to  Camille  Maupin. 
"But  that  is  not  my  saying;  it  belongs  to  Napoleon, 
who  hated  women  of  genius,"  he  added. 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  Napoleon,"  said  Canalis, 
with  an  emphatic  tone  and  gesture.  "  It  was  one  of 
his  littlenesses  —  for  he  had  them  —  to  be  jealous  of 
literary  fame.  Who  can  explain,  or  describe,  or 
comprehend  Napoleon?  —  a  man  represented  always 
with  folded  arms,  who  yet  did  all  things;  who  was 
the  greatest  known  Power,  the  most  concentrated 
power,  the  most  corrosive  and  acid  of  all  powers;  a 
strong  genius  which  led  an  armed  civilization  through- 
out the  world  and  fixed  it  nowhere ;  a  man  who  could 
do  all  because  he  willed  all ;  prodigious  phenomenon 
of  Will !  —  subduing  disease  by  a  battle,  yet  doomed 
to  die  of  disease  in  his  bed  after  living  unscathed 
amid  cannon-balls  and  bullets;  a  man  who  had  in 
his  head  a  Code   and  a  Sword,  word  and   action;  a 


334  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

clear-sighted  mind  which  divined  all  except  his  own 
fall;  a  capricious  politician  who  played  his  soldiers 
like  pawns  and  yet  respected  three  heads,  Talleyrand, 
Pozzo  di  Borgo,  and  Metternich,  diplomatists  whose 
death  would  have  saved  the  French  Empire,  but  whose 
life  seemed  to  him  of  more  value  than  that  of  thou- 
sands of  soldiers;  a  man  to  whom,  by  some  rare 
privilege  nature  had  left  a  heart  in  his  iron  body ;  a 
man  at  midnight  kind  and  laughing  among  women, 
and  the  next  day  handling  Europe  without  gloves; 
hypocritical  and  generous;  loving  meretriciousness 
and  simplicity;  without  taste,  but  protecting  Art;  and, 
in  spite  of  these  antitheses,  grand  in  all  things  by  in- 
stinct or  by  organization;  Caesar  at  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  Cromwell  at  thirty,  but  a  good  husband  and 
a  good  father  like  any  bourgeois  of  Pere  Lachaise ;  a 
man  who  improvised  great  public  buildings,  empires, 
kings,  codes,  poems,  and  one  romance,  and  all  with 
greater  range  than  accuracy.  Did  he  not  attempt  to 
make  Europe  France;  and  after  bearing  our  weight 
upon  the  earth  until  it  changed  the  laws  of  gravitation, 
has  he  not  left  us  poorer  than  the  day  he  put  his  hand 
upon  us?  He  who  made  an  empire  with  his  name, 
lost  that  name  on  the  borders  of  his  empire  in  a  sea 
of  blood  and  slaughtered  men.  A  man  all  thought 
and  action,  who  was  able  to  comprehend  both  Desaix 
and  Fouche." 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  335 

"  Despotic  power  and  legal  justice,  each  in  due  sea- 
son, makes  the  true  king,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"But,"  said  the  Princesse  de  Cadignan,  addressing 
the  other  women  with  a  smile  both  dubious  and  satiri- 
cal, "have  we  women  really  deteriorated  as  these 
gentlemen  seem  to  think?  Because  to-day,  under  a 
system  which  belittles  everything,  you  men  like  little 
dishes,  little  apartments,  little  paintings,  little  jour- 
nals, little  books,  is  that  any  reason  why  women 
should  be  less  grand  than  they  have  been  ?  Does  the 
human  heart  change  because  you  change  your  habits  ? 
At  all  epochs  passions  remain  the  same.  I  know 
splendid  devotions,  sublime  endurances  which  lack 
publicity,  —  fame  if  you  prefer  to  call  it  so.  Many 
a  woman  is  not  less  an  Agnes  Sorel  because  she  never 
saved  a  king  of  France.  Do  you  think  our  Marquise 
d'Espard  worth  less  than  Madame  Doublet  or  Madame 
clu  Deffand,  in  whose  salon  so  much  harm  was  said 
and  done?  Isn't  Taglioni  the  equal  of  Camargo? 
and  Malibran  of  Saint-Huberti?  Are  not  our  poets 
superior  to  those  of  the  eighteenth  century?  If,  at 
this  moment,  thanks  to  the  grocers  who  govern  us,  we 
have  no  style  of  our  own,  didn't  the  Empire  have  a 
style  as  fully  its  own  as  that  of  Louis  XV.  ?  And  its 
splendor  was  surely  fabulous.  Have  the  arts  and 
sciences  lost  ground  ?  " 

"I   agree   with    you,    madame,"    said   General   de 


336  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

Montriveau.  "In  my  opinion  the  women  of  this 
epoch  are  truly  great.  When  posterity  gives  a  verdict 
upon  us  will  not  Madame  Recamier's  fame  be  equal  to 
that  of  the  loveliest  women  of  past  ages  ?  We  have 
made  history  so  fast  that  we  lack  historians  to  write  it 
down.  The  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  had  but  one  Madame 
de  Sevigne,  while  we  have  a  thousand  to-day  in  Paris 
who  can  write  better  letters,  but  do  not  publish  them. 
Whether  the  French  woman  calls  herself  femme  comme 
il  faut  or  great  lady,  she  will  always  be  the  pre- 
eminent  woman.  Emile  Blondet  has  made  us  a  pic- 
ture of  the  manners  and  charms  of  a  woman  of  the 
present  day;  but,  if  occasion  offered,  this  mincing, 
affected  being,  who  plays  a  part  and  warbles  out  the 
ideas  of  Monsieur  this,  that,  and  the  other,  would 
show  herself  heroic !  Even  your  faults,  mesdames, 
seem  the  more  poetic  because  they  are  and  always 
will  be  hedged  about  with  great  dangers.  I  have  seen 
much  of  the  world,  perhaps  I  have  studied  it  too  late; 
but,  under  circumstances  in  which  the  illegality  of 
your  sentiments  might  fiud  excuse,  I  have  always 
observed  the  effects  of  some  chance,  —  you  may  call  it 
Providence  if  you  like,  —  which  fatally  overtake  those 
women  whom  we  call  frail." 

"I  hope,"  said  Madame  de  Camps,  "that  we  are 
able  to  be  great  otherwise." 

"  Oh,  let  the  Marquis  de  Montriveau  preach  to  us!  " 
cried  Madame  de  Serizy. 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  337 

"  All  the  more  because  he  has  preached  by  example," 
said  the  Baronne  de  Nucingen. 

"Alas!"  said  General  de  Montriveau,  "of  the 
many  dramas,  —  that  's  a  word  you  are  constantly 
using,"  he  said  with  a  nod  to  Blondet,  "  in  which  to 
my  knowledge  the  finger  of  God  has  showed  itself, 
the  most  terrible  was  one  that  was  partly  my  own 
doing." 

"  Oh,  tell  it  to  us!  "  cried  Lady  Barimore.  "  I  love 
to  shudder." 

"  The  taste  of  a  virtuous  woman,"  said  de  Marsay 
replying  to  the  charming  daughter  of  Lord  Dudley. 

"During  the  campaign  of  1812,"  said  General  de 

Montriveau,  "  I  was  the  involuntary  cause  of  a  fearful 

misfortune,  which  may  serve  you,  Docteur  Bianchon," 

he  said,  turning  to  me,  — "  you,  who  take  so  much  note 

of  the  human  mind  while  you  study  the  human  body,  — 

to  solve  certain  of  your  enigmas  concerning  the  will. 

I  was  making  my  second  campaign ;  I  liked  the  peril 

and  I  laughed  at  everything,  simple  young  lieutenant 

of  artillery  that  I  was !    When  we  reached  the  Beresina 

the  army  no  longer  kept,  as  you  know,  any  discipline; 

military  obedience  was  at  an  end.     A  crowd  of  men 

of  all  nations  was  making  its  way  instinctively  from 

north  to  south.     Soldiers  drove  their  barefooted  and 

ragged  general  from   their  camp-fires   if   he  brought 

them  neither  wood  nor  provisions.     After  the  passage 

22 


338  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

of  that  famous  river,  the  disorder  was    lessened.     I 
came    out    quietly,   alone,    without    food,    from    the 
marshes  of  Zembin,  and  I  walked  along  looking  for  a 
house  where  some  one  might  be  willing  to  admit  me. 
Finding  none  all  day,  being  driven  from  those  I  came 
to,  I  fortunately  saw  late  in  the  evening  a  miserable 
little  Polish  farmhouse,  of  which  I  can  give  you  no 
idea  unless  you  have  seen  the  wooden  houses  of  lower 
Normandy  or  the  poorest  hovels  of  La  Beauce.    These 
Polish  dwellings  consist  of  a  single  room,  one  end  of 
which  is  divided  off  by  a  plank  partition  and  serves  as 
a  storehouse  for  forage.     1  saw  in  the  twilight  a  light 
smoke  rising  from  this  building,  and  hoping  to  find 
comrades  more  compassionate  than  the  persons  I  had 
hitherto   addressed,    I   marched  boldly  to   the   door. 
Entering,  I  found  a   table  spread.     Several   officers, 
among  whom  was  a  woman  (a  not   unusual    sight), 
were  eating  potatoes   and  horse-flesh   broiled  on  the 
embers,    and  frozen  beetroot.      I  recognized  two  or 
three  captains  of  artillery  belonging  to  the  regiment  in 
which  I  had  first  served.    I  was  received  with  a  volley 
of  acclamations  which  would  greatly  have    surprised 
me  on  the  other  side  of  the  Beresina;   but  at  this 
moment  the  cold  was  less  intense,  my  comrades  were 
resting,  they  were  warm,  they  were  eating,  and  piles 
of  straw  at  the  end  of  the  room  offered  them  the  per- 
spective of  a  delightful  night.     We  did  n't  ask  for 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  389 

much  in  those  clays.  My  comrades  could  be  philan- 
thropic gratis, — a  very  common  way  of  being  philan- 
thropic, by  the  bye.  At  the  end  of  the  table,  near  the 
door  which  led  into  the  small  room  filled  with  straw 
and  hay,  I  saw  my  former  colonel,  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  men  I  have  ever  met  in  the  varied  col- 
lection of  men  it  has  been  my  lot  to  know.  He  was 
an  Italian.  Whenever  human  beings  are  beautiful  in 
southern  countries  they  are  sublimely  beautiful.  Have 
you  ever  remarked  the  singular  whiteness  of  Italians 
when  they  are  white?  It  is  magnificent,  especially  in 
the  light.  When  I  read  the  fantastic  portrait  Charles 
Nodier  has  given  us  of  Colonel  Oudet,  I  found  my 
own  sensations  expressed  in  every  sentence.  Italian, 
like  most  of  the  officers  of  his  regiment,  —  borrowed 
by  the  Emperor  from  the  army  of  Prince  Eugene,  — 
my  colonel  was  a  man  of  great  height,  admirably  pro- 
portioned, possibly  a  trifle  too  stout,  but  amazingly 
vigorous  and  light,  agile  as  a  greyhound.  His  black 
hair,  curling  profusely,  set  into  brilliant  relief  a  clear 
white  skin  like  that  of  a  woman.  He  had  handsome 
feet,  small  hands,  a  charming  mouth,  and  an  aquiline 
nose  with  delicate  lines,  the  tip  of  which  contracted 
naturally  and  turned  white  when  he  was  angry,  which 
was  often.  His  irascibility  so  passed  all  belief  that  I 
shall  tell  you  nothing  about  it;  you  shall  judge  for 
yourself.     No  one  was  ever  at  ease  in  his  presence. 


340  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

Perhaps  I  was  the  only  man  who  did  not  fear  him. 
It  is  true  that  he  had  taken  a  singular  liking  to  me; 
he  thought  whatever  I  did  was  good.  When  anger 
worked  within  him,  his  forehead  contracted,  his  mus- 
cles stood  out  in  the  middle  of  it  like  the  horse-shoe 
of  Redgauntlet.  That  sign  would  have  terrified  you 
more  than  the  magnetic  lightning  of  his  blue  eyes. 
His  whole  body  would  then  quiver,  and  his  strength, 
already  so  great  in  his  normal  condition,  passed  all 
bounds.  He  rolled  his  r's  excessively.  His  voice, 
certainly  as  powerful  as  that  of  Charles  Nodier's 
Oudet,  gave  an  indescribable  richness  of  sound  to  the 
syllable  which  contained  that  consonant.  Though  this 
vice  of  pronunciation  was,  in  him,  and  at  all  times,  a 
charm,  you  cannot  imagine  the  power  that  accent,  con- 
sidered so  vulgar  in  Paris,  was  capable  of  expressing 
when  he  commanded  a  manoeuvre,  or  was  in  any  way 
excited.  You  must  have  heard  it  to  understand  it. 
When  the  colonel  was  tranquil  his  blue  eyes  were  full 
of  angelic  sweetness;  his  pure  brow  sparkled  with  an 
expression  that  was  full  of  charm.  At  a  parade  of  the 
Army  of  Italy  no  man  could  compare  with  him.  Even 
d'Orsay  himself,  the  handsome  d'Orsay,  was  van- 
quished by  our  colonel  at  the  last  review  held  by 
Napoleon  before  his  entrance  into  Russia.  In  this 
gifted  man  all  was  contradiction.  Passion  lives  by 
contrasts.     Therefore  do  not  ask  me  whether  he  was 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  341 

conscious  of  those  irresistible  influences  to  which 
our  nature  "  (the  general  looked  toward  the  Princesse 
de  Cadignan)  "bends  like  molten  glass  beneath  the 
blower's  pipe;  but  it  so  chanced  that  by  some  singular 
fatality  the  colonel  had  had  but  few  love-affairs,  or 
had  neglected  to  have  them.  To  give  you  an  idea  of 
his  violence,  I  will  tell  you  in  two  words  what  I  once 
saw  him  do  in  a  paroxysm  of  anger.  We  were  march- 
ing with  our  cannon  along  a  very  narrow  road,  bor- 
dered on  one  side  by  woods  and  on  the  other  by  a 
rather  steep  bank.  Half  way  along  this  road  we  met 
another  regiment  of  artillery,  its  colonel  marching 
with  it.  This  colonel  wanted  to  make  the  captain  of 
our  regiment  at  the  head  of  the  first  battery  give  way 
to  his  troop.  Naturally  our  captain  refused.  But  the 
colonel  of  the  other  regiment  made  a  sign  to  his  first 
battery  to  advance,  and  in  spite  of  the  care  the  first 
driver  took  to  keep  close  into  the  woods  the  wheel  of 
the  gun  carriage  caught  the  right  leg  of  our  captain, 
broke  it,  and  flung  him  to  the  other  side  of  his  horse. 
It  was  done  in  a  moment.  Our  colonel,  who  happened 
to  be  at  a  little  distance,  saw  the  quarrel,  and  galloped 
x.a*iously  up  through  the  trees  and  among  the  wheels 
at  the  risk  of  being  flung  with  all  his  hoofs  in  the  air, 
reaching  the  spot  in  face  of  the  other  colonel  just  as 
the  captain  cried  out,  'To  me !  '  and  fell.  No !  our 
Italian  colonel  was  no  longer  a  man.     Foam,  like  that 


342  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

of  champagne,  boiled  from  his  mouth,  he  growled  like 
a  lion.  Incapable  of  uttering  a  word,  even  a  ciy,  he 
made  a  dreadful  sign  to  his  adversary,  pointing  to  the 
wood,  and  drew  his  sabre.  They  entered  it.  In  two 
seconds  we  saw  the  other  colonel  on  the  ground  with 
his  head  split  in  two.  The  soldiers  of  that  regiment 
retreated,  ha !  the  devil !  and  in  quick  time,  too !  Our 
captain,  who  just  missed  being  killed,  and  who  was 
yelping  in  the  ditch  where  the  wheel  of  the  gun- 
carriage  had  flung  him,  had  a  wife,  a  charming  Italian 
woman  from  Messina,  who  was  not  indifferent  to  our 
colonel.  This  circumstance  had  greatly  increased  his 
fury.  His  protection  was  due  to  the  husband ;  he  was 
bound  to  defend  him  as  well  as  the  wife.  Now,  in 
the  miserable  Polish  cabin  this  side  of  Zembin,  where, 
as  I  told  you,  I  received  such  cordial  welcome,  this 
very  captain  sat  opposite  to  me,  and  his  wife  was  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table  opposite  to  the  colonel. 
She  was  a  little  woman,  named  Rosina,  very  dark, 
but  bearing  in  her  black  eyes,  shaped  like  almonds, 
all  the  ardour  of  the  sun  of  Sicily.  At  this  moment 
she  was  deplorably  thin,  her  cheeks  were  covered 
with  dust  like  a  peach  exposed  to  the  weather  on  a 
high-road.  Scarcely  clothed  and  all  in  rags,  wearied 
by  marches,  her  hair  in  disorder  beneath  the  frag- 
ment of  a  shawl  tied  across  her  head,  there  was  still 
all  the  presence  of   a  woman  about   her;   her   move- 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  343 

merits  were  pretty,  her  rosy,  dimpled  mouth,  her  white 
teeth,  the  lines  of  her  face  aud  bust,  —  charms  which 
misery,  cold,  aud  want  of  care  had  not  entirely  effaced, 
—  still  told  of  love  and  sweetness  to  any  one  whose 
mind  could  dwell  upon  a  woman.  Rosina  evidently 
possessed  one  of  those  natures  which  are  fragile  in 
appearance,  but  are  full  of  nervous  strength.  The 
face  of  the  husband,  a  Piedmontese  nobleman,  ex- 
pressed a  sort  of  jeering  good-humor,  if  it  is  per- 
missible to  ally  the  two  words.  Brave,  intelligent 
and  educated,  he  nevertheless  seemed  to  ignore  the 
relations  which  had  existed  between  his  wife  and  the 
colonel  for  nearly  three  years.  I  attributed  this 
indifference  to  the  singular  customs  of  Italy,  or  to 
some  secret  in  their  own  home ;  but  there  was  in  the 
man's  face  one  feature  which  had  always  inspired  me 
with  involuntary  distrust.  His  underlip,  thin  and 
very  flexible,  turned  down  at  its  two  extremities 
instead  of  turning  up,  which  seemed  to  me  to  reveal 
an  underlying  cruelty  in  a  character  apparently  phleg- 
matic and  indolent.  You  can  well  imagine  that  the 
conversation  was  not  brilliant  when  I  entered.  My 
weary  comrades  were  eating  in  silence,  but  they  nat- 
urally asked  me  a  few  questions;  and  we  related  our 
several  misfortunes,  mingling  them  with  reflections 
on  the  campaign,  the  generals,  their  blunders,  the 
Russians,  and  the  cold.     Soon  after  my  arrival,  the 


344  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

colonel,  having  finished  his  meagre  meal,  wiped  his 
moustache,  wished  us  good-night,  cast  his  black  eye 
toward  the  woman,  and  said,  'Rosina.'  Then  with- 
out awaiting  any  reply  he  went  into  the  space  parti- 
tioned off  for  forage.  The  meaning  of  his  summons 
was  evident;  and  the  youDg  woman  made  an  inde- 
scribable gesture,  which  expressed  both  the  annoyance 
that  she  felt  at  seeing  her  dependence  thus  exhibited 
without  respect  for  human  feelings,  and  her  sense  of 
the  affront  offered  to  her  dignity  as  a  woman  and  to 
her  husband.  And  yet  in  the  strained  expression  of 
her  features  and  in  the  violent  contraction  of  her  eye- 
brows, there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  foreboding ;  per- 
haps a  presentiment  of  her  fate  came  over  her.  Rosina 
continued  to  sit  tranquilly  at  the  table;  a  moment 
later  the  colonel's  voice  was  heard  repeating  her 
name,  '  Rosina !  '  The  tone  of  this  new  summon 
was  even  more  brutal  than  that  of  the  first.  The  roll- 
ing accent  of  the  colonel's  voice  and  the  echo  which 
the  Italian  language  gives  to  vowels  and  final  letters 
revealed  in  a  startling  manner  the  despotism,  impa- 
tience, and  will  of  that  man.  Rosina  turned  pale, 
but  she  rose,  passed  behind  us,  and  joined  the  colonel. 
All  my  comrades  maintained  a  rigid  silence ;  but  I,  un- 
happily, after  looking  round  at  them,  began  to  laugh, 
and  the  laugh  was  then  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
'You  laugh?  '  said  the  husband.     'Faith,  comrade,'  I 


Another  Study  of  Woman.  345 

replied,  becoming  serious,  'I  did  wrong,  I  admit  it;  I 
ask  ten  thousand  pardons;  and  if  you  are  not  content 
with  such  excuses  I  am  ready  to  give  you  satisfac- 
tion.' *  It  is  not  you  who  have  done  wrong,  it  is  I,' 
he  replied  coldly.  Thereupon  we  all  shook  down  our 
straw  about  the  room  and  were  soon  lost  in  the  sleep 
of  weariness.  The  next  day  each  man,  without  awak- 
ing his  neighbor,  without  looking  for  a  journeying 
companion,  started  on  his  way  with  that  utter  egotism 
which  made  our  retreat  from  Russia  one  of  the  most 
horrible  dramas  of  personality,  sadness,  and  horror 
which  ever  took  place  beneath  the  heavens.  Yet 
after  each  man  had  gone  some  seven  or  eight  hundred 
yards  from  our  night's  lodging,  we  came  together  and 
marched  along  like  geese  led  in  flocks  by  the  uncon- 
scious despotism  of  a  child.  A  common  necessity 
was  driving  us  along.  When  we  reached  a  slight 
elevation  from  which  we  could  see  the  house  where  we 
had  passed  the  night,  we  heard  sounds  that  resembled 
the  roaring  of  lions  in  the  desert  or  the  bellowing  of 
bulls ;  but  no !  that  clamor  could  not  be  compared  to 
any  known  sound.  Mingled  with  that  horrible  and 
sinister  roar  came  the  feeble  cry  of  a  woman.  We  all 
turned  round,  seized  with  a  sensation  —  I  know  not 
how  to  describe  it  —  of  fear;  the  house  was  no  longer 
visible,  only  a  burning  pile;  the  building,  which 
some  one  had  barricaded,  was  in  flames.      Clouds  of 


346  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

smoke,  driven  by  the  wind,  rolled  towards  us,  bring- 
ing raucous  sounds  and  a  strong  indescribable  odor. 
A  few  steps  from  us  marched  the  captain,  who  had 
quietly  joined  our  caravan;  we  looked  at  him  in 
silence,  for  none  of  us  dared  question  him.  But  he, 
divining  our  curiosity,  touched  his  breast  with  the 
forefinger  of  his  right  hand  and  pointed  with  the  left 
to  the  conflagration.  'Son'  io!  '  he  said.  We  con- 
tinued our  way  without  another  word  to  him." 

"There  is  nothing  more  fearful  than  the  revolt  of 
sheep,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"  It  would  be  too  dreadful  to  let  us  part  with  that 
horrible  scene  in  our  minds,"  said  Madame  de  Mont- 
cornet.     "I  shall  dream  of  it." 

"Tell  us,  before  we  go,  what  punishment  befel 
Monsieur  de  Marsay' s  first  love,"  said  Lord  Dudley, 
smiling. 

"  When  Englishmen  jest  their  foils  are  buttoned," 
remarked  ^mile  Blondet. 

"  Monsieur  Bianchon  can  tell  you  that,"  replied  de 
Marsay,  turning  to  me.     "  He  saw  her  die." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  her  death  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  I  ever  witnessed.  The  duke  and  I  had 
passed  the  night  beside  the  pillow  of  the  dying  woman, 
whose  disease,  consumption,  was  then  in  its  final 
stages;  no  hope  remained,  and  she  had  received  the 
last  offices  of  the  Church  the  preceding  evening.     The 


A?iother  Study  of  Woman.  347 

duke  bad  fallen  asleep.  Madame  la  duchesse,  wak- 
ing about  four  in  the  morning,  made  me,  in  a  touch- 
ing manner  and  with  a  smile,  a  tender  little  sign  to 
let  him  sleep ;  and  yet  she  felt  she  was  about  to  die ! 
She  had  reached  a  stage  of  extraordinary  thinness,  but 
her  face  preserved  its  features,  and  its  outlines  were 
truly  sublime.  Her  pallor  made  her  skin  resemble 
porcelain  behind  which  a  light  has  been  placed.  Her 
brilliant  eyes  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks  shone  out 
upon  this  skin  so  softly  beautiful,  while  the  whole 
countenance  seemed  to  breathe  forth  a  commanding 
tranquillity.  Evidently  she  pitied  the  duke,  and  the 
feeling  took  its  rise  in  a  lofty  sentiment  which  seemed 
to  see  no  limit  in  the  approach  of  death.  The  silence 
was  profound.  The  chamber,  softly  lighted  by  a 
lamp,  had  the  appearance  of  all  sick-chambers  at  the 
moment  of  death.  At  that  instant  the  clock  struck. 
The  duke  awoke,  and  was  in  despair  at  having  slept. 
I  did  not  see  the  gesture  of  impatience  with  which  he 
showed  the  regret  he  felt  at  having  lost  his  wife  from 
sight  during  the  few  last  moments  granted  to  him; 
but  it  is  certain  that  any  other  person  than  the  dying 
woman  might  have  been  mistaken  about  him.  A 
statesman,  preoccupied  with  the  interests  of  France, 
the  duke  had  many  of  those  apparent  oddities  which 
often  make  men  of  genius  pass  for  fools,  though  the 
explanation  may  be  found  in  the  exquisite  nature  and 


348  Another  Study  of  Woman. 

requirements  of  their  rnind.  He  now  took  a  chair 
beside  the  bed  and  looked  fixedly  at  his  wife.  The 
dying  woman  put  out  her  hand  and  took  that  of  her 
husband  which  she  pressed  gently,  saying  in  a  soft 
but  trembling  voice :  — 

" '  My  poor  friend,  who  will  understand  you  in 
future  ?  ' 

"  So  saying,  she  died,  looking  at  him." 

uThe  doctor's  stories,"  said  the  Due  de  Rhetore, 
"  always  leave  a  deep  impression." 

"  But  a  tender  one,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 


COMEDIES  PLAYED  GRATIS. 


COMEDIES    PLAYED    GRATIS. 


To  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Belgiojoso,  nee 

Trivulce. 


To  know  how  to  sell,  to  be  able  to  sell,  and  to  sell! 
The  public  has  no  conception  of  all  that  Paris  owes  of 
grandeur  to  those  three  faces  of  one  problem.  The 
dazzling  brilliancy  of  shops,  as  rich  as  the  salons 
of  the  nobility  before  1789,  the  splendor  of  cafes, 
which  often  eclipses,  and  very  easily,  that  of  the 
neo- Versailles ;  the  poems  of  show-windows,  pulled  to 
pieces  every  night,  reconstructed  every  morning ;  the 
elegance  and  grace  of  the  young  men  communicating 
with  the  female  buyers ;  the  piquant  faces  and  toilets 
of  the  young  girls  whose  busiuess  it  is  to  attract  the 
male  customer;  lastly,  and  recently,  the  vast  spaces 
and  depths  and  Babylonian  luxury  of  the  galleries, 
in  which  the  shop-keepers  monopolize  specialties  by 
collecting   them  in   one  vast   enterprise,  —  all   these 


352  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

things  are  nothing.  They  have  merely  pleased  the 
most  greedy  and  the  most  blase  organ  developed  in 
the  human  being  since  the  days  of  the  Romans,  —  an 
organ  whose  exactions  have  now  become  boundless, 
thanks  to  the  efforts  of  refined  civilization.  That 
organ  is  the  Eye  of  a  Parisian. 

That  eye  receives  and  consumes  fire-works  costing 
a  hundred  thousand  francs ;  palaces  six  thousand  feet 
long  and  sixty  feet  high  in  many-colored  glass;  the 
fairy  scenes  of  fourteen  theatres  every  night;  ever- 
changing  panoramas ;  continual  exhibitions  of  master- 
pieces; worlds  of  sorrows,  universes  of  joy,  as  they 
wander  along  the  boulevards  or  tread  the  streets; 
encyclopedias  of  rags  at  the  carnival;  twenty  illus- 
trated works  a  year ;  a  thousand  caricatures ;  ten  thou- 
sand vignettes,  lithographs,  and  engravings.  That 
eye  drinks  in  over  fifteen  thousand  francs'  worth  of 
gas  every  evening.  Moreover,  to  satisfy  it,  the  city 
of  Paris  spends  annually  several  millions  in  landscape 
gardening,  points  of  view,  and  plantations.  But  all 
this  is  nothing;  it  is  only  the  material  side  of  the 
question.  Yes,  it  is  in  our  opinion  a  very  small 
matter  compared  with  the  efforts  of  intellect,  the 
wiles,  worthy  of  Moliere's  pen,  practised  by  the  sixty 
thousand  clerks  and  the  forty  thousand  young  women 
who  beset  the  purses  of  customers  as  whitebait  swarm 
about  the  scraps  of  food  which  float  upon  the  waters 
of  the  Seine. 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  353 

The  Gaudissart  of  the  shop  is  fully  equal  in  capac- 
ity, mental  powers,  wit,  humor,  and  philosophy  to  the 
illustrious  commercial  traveller  who  has  now  become 
the  type  of  his  tribe.  Out  of  the  shop,  out  of  his  line 
of  business,  he  is  like  a  balloon  without  gas ;  he  owes 
his  faculties  to  his  environment  of  goods  to  sell,  just 
as  the  actor  is  sublime  only  on  the  stage.  Although, 
judged  by  the  other  shopmen  of  Europe,  the  French 
clerk  has  far  more  education  thau  they,  —  that  is,  he  can 
talk  asphalt,  Mabille,  polka,  literature,  illustrated 
books,  railroads,  politics,  Chamber,  and  revolution,  — 
he  is  excessively  dull-minded  when  he  leaves  his 
counter,  his  yard-stick,  and  his  selling  graces.  But 
there,  on  his  own  ground,  persuasion  on  his  lip,  his  eye 
on  his  customer,  and  shawl  in  hand,  he  eclipses  the 
great  Talleyrand;  he  has  more  wit  than  Desaugiers, 
more  cunning  than  Cleopatra ;  he  is  worth  more  than 
Monrose  with  Moliere  to  boot.  In  his  own  house 
Talleyrand  would  have  tricked  Gaudissart;  but  in  the 
shop  Gaudissart  would  fool  the  prince. 

Let  us  explain  this  paradox  by  a  fact. 

Two  pretty  duchesses  were  chattering  in  the  room 
where  the  above-mentioned  illustrious  statesman  was 
reading.  They  wanted  a  bracelet  and  they  were 
expecting  some  to  be  sent  for  selection  from  the  shop 
of  the  most  celebrated  jeweller  in  Paris.  A  Gaudis- 
sart arrived,  armed  with  three  bracelets,  three  mar- 

23 


354  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

vels,  among  which  the  two  women  hesitated.  Choice! 
that 's  the  lightning  of  the  intellect.  Do  you  hesitate, 
unable  to  choose?  Then  you  are  certain  to  be  mis- 
taken. Taste  never  has  two  inspirations.  At  last, 
after  about  ten  minutes'  discussion,  they  appealed 
to  the  prince.  He  saw  the  two  duchesses  helplessly 
undecided  between  the  two  finest  of  these  ornaments, 
—  for  the  third  had  been  put  aside  almost  from  the 
beginning.  The  prince  did  not  close  his  book,  neither 
did  he  look  at  the  bracelets,  he  watched  the  clerk. 

"Which  would  you  choose  for  the  girl  you  like 
best?"   he  said  addressing  him. 

The  young  man  pointed  to  one  of  the  two  bracelets. 

"  In  that  case,  take  the  other,"  said  the  craftiest  of 
modern  diplomatists  to  the  duchesses,  "and  make 
two  women  happy;  and  you,  young  man,  make  your 
friend  happy  by  presenting  to  her  the  other  in  my 
name." 

The  pretty  women  smiled  and  the  shopman  retired 
gratified  by  the  present  of  the  prince ;  but  still  more 
by  the  good  opinion  he  seemed  to  have  of  him. 

A  woman  is  seen  getting  out  of  a  brilliant  equipage 
which  has  stopped  in  the  rue  Vivienne  before  the  door 
of  one  of  those  sumptuous  establishments  where  they 
sell  shawls.  She  is  accompanied  by  another  woman. 
Women  almost  always  start  in  couples  on  these  expe- 
ditions.    All,  on  such  occasions,  will  go  through  ten 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  355 

shops  before  they  make  up  their  minds,  and  as  they 
go  from  one  to  another,  they  laugh  over  the  little 
comedy  the  clerks  have  played  to  them.  But  let  us 
examine  who  played  their  part  best,  buyers  or  seller; 
which  of  the  two  has  carried  off  the  honors  of  the 
little  vaudeville? 

When  it  is  a  matter  of  describing  the  greatest  fact 
of  Parisian  commerce,  namely,  the  Sale,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  produce  a  type  in  summing  up  the  question. 
Now,  as  to  this,  a  shawl  or  a  chatelaine  worth  several 
thousand  francs  would  certainly  seem  to  cause  more 
emotion  than  a  piece  of  cambric  or  a  gown  for  two  or 
three  hundred  francs.  But,  O  foreigners  of  both  hemi- 
spheres, should  you  ever  read  this  physiology  of  the 
counter,  know  that  such  scenes  are  played  in  all  shops 
over  a  barege  at  two  francs,  or  a  printed  muslin  at  four 
francs  a  yard. 

How  can  you,  princesses  or  bourgeoises,  it  matters 
not  which,  distrust  that  pretty  and  very  young  man 
with  velvet  cheeks  colored  like  a  peach,  ingenuous 
eyes,  and  clothed  very  nearly  as  well  as  your  —  your 
■ — cousin,  let  us  say;  a  youth  gifted  with  a  voice  as 
soft  as  the  fleecy  fabric  he  displays  to  you?  There 
are  three  or  four  others  like  him.  Here  's  one  with 
black  eyes  and  a  decided  expression  of  face,  who  says 
to  you  with  an  imperious  air,  "  This  is  what  you  want." 
There 's    another   with    blue    eyes    and    timid    man- 


356  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

ner  and  submissive  phrases,  and  you  say  of  him, 
"Poor  lad!  he  was  never  born  to  be  a  shopman."  A 
third  has  chestnut  hair,  and  yellow,  laughing  eyes ;  he 
is  pleasant  of  speech,  and  is  gifted  with  wondrous 
activity  and  meridional  gayety.  A  fourth  is  tawny  reel, 
with  his  beard  cut  fan-shape,  stiff  as  a  communist, 
stern,  imposing,  with  a  fatal  cravat  and  curt  speech. 

These  different  species  of  shopmen,  selected  and 
adapted  as  they  are  to  the  leading  characteristics  of 
women,  are  the  arms  of  their  master,  —  a  stout  indi- 
vidual with  a  cheery  face,  rather  bald,  possessing  the 
stomach  of  a  ministerial  deputy,  and  sometimes  deco- 
rated with  the  Legion  of  honor  for  having  maintained 
the  dignity  of  French  trade.  His  lines  are  those  of 
contented  rotundity;  he  has  a  wife,  several  children, 
a  country-house,  and  a  balance  in  the  bank.  This 
personage  descends  into  the  arena  like  a  Deas  ex 
machind  when  some  too  mixed  intrigue  requires 
prompt  conclusion.  Thus  the  female  purchaser  is 
environed  by  kindliness,  courtesy,  youth,  smiles, 
pleasantry,  —  all  that  civilized  man  can  offer  of  what 
is  simplest  and  most  deceiving,  the  whole  arranged  in 
careful  gradation  to  suit  all  tastes. 

One  word  on  the  optical,  architectural,  and  decora- 
tive effects  of  this  comedy,  —  a  short, decisive  word; 
a  word  of  history  written  on  the  spot.  No.  76  rue  de 
Richelieu  is  an  elegant  shop,  white  and  gold,  draped 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  357 

with  crimson  velvet,  which  now  possesses  an  entresol, 
through  which  the  light  comes  full  from  the  rue  de 
Menars  as  in  a  painter's  studio,  pure,  clear,  and 
always  equable.  Where  is  the  true  Parisian  lounger 
who  has  not  admired  the  Persian,  King  of  Asia,  who 
bears  himself  so  proudly  at  the  angle  of  that  shop  in 
the  rue  de  Richelieu  and  the  rue  de  la  Bourse,  charged 
to  say,  urbi  et  orbi :  "I  reign  more  tranquilly  here 
than  at  Teheran."  Five  hundred  years  hence  that 
piece  of  carving  at  the  corner  of  two  streets  might, 
were  it  not  for  the  present  immortal  analysis,  occupy 
the  minds  of  archaeologists  and  give  rise  to  volumes 
in-quarto  with  diagrams  (like  those  of  Monsieur 
Quatremere  de  Quincy  on  the  Olympian  Jupiter)  in 
which  it  would  be  demonstrated  that  Napoleon  was  a 
Son  of  ancient  Persia  before  he  was  Emperor  of  the 
French.  Well,  the  book  in  which  you  read  this  instruc- 
tive page  was  kept  and  sold  in  that  entresol ;  but  the 
gorgeous  shop  laid  siege  to  the  poor  little  place, 
and,  by  force  of  banknotes,  seized  upon  it.  The 
Comedy  of  Human  Life  was  forced  to  yield  to  the 
comedy  of  cashmere  shawls.  The  Persian  sacrificed  a 
few  diamonds  in  his  crown  to  increase  the  much  needed 
light,  the  rays  of  ^vhich  have  increased  the  sales  in 
that  shop  one  hundred  per  cent,  on  account  of  their 
influence  on  the  play  of  colors ;  this  light  puts  into  relief 
all  shawl  seductions ;  it  is  an  irresistible  light,  truly  a 


358  Comedies  Played  Grratis. 

golden  ray!  From  that  fact  judge  of  the  efforts  after 
scenic  effect  in  the  shops  of  Paris. 

Let  us  return  to  those  young  shopmen  and  their 
portly  master  (who  is  received  by  the  King  of  the 
French  at  his  table),  and  to  the  head-clerk  with  the 
ruddy  beard  and  the  autocratic  manner.  These 
Gaudissarts  emeriti  measure  swords  with  several 
thousand  caprices  a  week;  they  know  all  the  vibra- 
tions of  the  cashmere-chord  in  the  feminine  heart. 
When  a  lorette,  a  respectable  lady,  the  young  mother 
of  a  family,  a  lionne,  a  duchesse,  a  worthy  bourgeoise, 
a  saucy  danseuse,  an  innocent  young  girl,  a  too 
innocent  foreigner  presents  herself,  she  is  instantly 
anatyzed  by  these  seven  or  eight  men,  who  have 
studied  her  from  the  moment  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
knob  of  the  door,  —  men  whom  you  will  see  stationed 
at  the  windows,  behind  the  counters,  at  the  corners  of 
the  shop,  looking  as  if  they  dreamed  of  a  Sunday's 
outing ;  in  fact,  if  you  examine  them,  you  will  say  to 
yourself,   "  What  can  they  be  thinking  of?  " 

A  woman's  purse,  her  desires,  her  intentions,  her 
fancies  are  better  searched  in  that  one  moment  by 
those  apparently  vacant  minds  than  custom-house 
officers  can  search  a  suspected  carriage  on  the  frontier 
in  seven  quarters  of  an  hour.  These  intelligent 
scamps,  serious  as  a  noble  father,  have  seen  all,  —  the 
details  of  the  buyer's  apparel,  a  spot  of  mud  on  her 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  359 

boot,  want  of  style  in  her  motions,  dirty  or  ill-chosen 
bonnet-strings,  the  freshness  of  the  gloves,  the  cut 
and  fashion  of  the  gown  betraying  the  intelligent 
scissors  of  Victorine  IV.,  the  bauble  of  Frornent- 
Meurice,  in  short,  all  that  reveals  to  a  knowing  eye 
the  quality,  fortune,  and  character  of  a  woman. 
Tremble!  Never  is  this  sanhedrim  of  Gaudissarts, 
led  by  its  master,  mistaken.  The  ideas  of  each  are 
transmitted  from  one  to  another  with  telegraphic 
rapidity,  by  the  eye,  b}T  twitches  of  the  body,  by 
smiles,  by  motions  of  the  lips;  observe  them,  and 
you  '11  be  reminded  of  the  lighting  up  of  the  grand 
avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  where  the  gas  flies 
from  lamp  to  lamp  precisely  as  these  ideas  light  up 
the  pupils  of  clerk  after  clerk. 

If  the  entering  customer  be  an  English  woman,  the 
gloomy  Gaudissart,  mysterious  and  darksome,  like  a 
personage  out  of  Lord  Byron,  advances.  If  it  is  a 
bourgeoise,  the  oldest  of  the  clerks  is  assigned  to  her. 
He  shows  her  a  hundred  shawls  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour;  he  bewilders  her  with  colors  and  designs;  he 
unfolds  more  shawls  than  a  hawk  makes  circles  over  a 
chicken;  so,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  dizzy,  and  not 
knowing  how  to  choose,  the  worth}7  woman,  flattered 
and  pleased,  trusts  to  the  shopman,  who  at  once  places 
her  between  two  hammers,  —  that  of  her  dilemma, 
and  that  of  the  equal  seductions  of  two  shawls. 


360  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

"This,  madame,"  he  says,  "is  very  becoming;  it 
is  apple-green,  the  color  now  in  fashion,  but  fashions 
change ;  whereas  this  "  (the  black  or  white,  the  sale  of 
which  is  urgent)  "goes  well  with  all  styles;  you  will 
never  find  this  out  of  fashion." 

That  is  the  mere  A-B-C  of  the  trade. 

"  You  would  hardly  believe  how  much  eloquence  is 
required  in  this  devil  of  a  business,"  said,  not  long 
ago,  the  head  Gaudissart  of  the  establishment  we  have 
already  mentioned,  to  his  two  friends,  du  Ronceret 
and  Bixiou,  who  had  gone  to  the  shop  to  buy  a  shawl, 
the  choice  of  which  they  left  to  him.  "You  are  both 
discreet,  and  I  don't  mind  speaking  to  you  of  the 
tricks  played  off  by  our  patron,  who  is  certainly  the 
cleverest  man  at  the  business  I  've  ever  seen.  I  don't 
mean  as  manufacturer,  for  Monsieur  Fritot  is  first 
there,  but  as  seller.  He  invented  the  Selim  shawl, 
that  is,  a  shawl  impossible  to  sell,  which  we  sell  con- 
tinually. We  keep  in  a  cedar  box,  very  plain,  but 
lined  with  satin,  a  shawl  worth  five  or  six  hundred 
francs,  a  shawl  sent  by  the  Sultan  Selim  to  the 
Emperor  Napoleon.  This  shawl  is  our  Imperial 
guard;  it  is  brought  on  the  field  when  the  cause  is 
nearly  lost;  il  se  vend  et  ne  meurt pas." 

At  this  instant  an  Englishwoman  got  out  of  a  hired 
carriage  and  entered  the  shop,  presenting  a  fine  ideal 
of  that  phlegmatic  coldness  which  characterizes  Eng- 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  361 

land  and  all  her  so-called  living  products.  You  might 
have  thought  her  the  statue  of  the  Commander  advanc- 
ing  with  slow  hops  of  an  ungainliness  manufactured 
in  the  families  of  England  with  national  care. 

"An  Englishwoman,"  whispered  the  head-clerk  in 
Bixiou's  ear,  "  is  our  battle  of  Waterloo.  "We  have 
women  who  slip  through  our  fingers  like  eels,  but  we 
catch  them  again  at  the  door;  we  have  lorettes  who 
blague  us ;  with  them  we  laugh,  for  we  hold  them  by 
credit;  we  have  undecipherable  foreign  women,  to 
whom  we  carry  shawls  at  their  lodgings,  and  with  whom 
we  come  to  an  understanding  through  flattery;  but  the 
Englishwoman !  it  is  like  handling  the  bronze  of  Louis 
XIV. 's  statue.  Those  women  regard  it  as  an  occupa- 
tion, a  duty,  a  pleasure  to  bargain.  They  put  us 
through  all  our  paces,  I  can  tell  you." 

The  Byronic  shopman  had  advanced. 

"  Does  madame  desire  an  India  shawl,  or  one  of 
French  manufacture ;  high-priced,  or  —  " 

u  I  will  see." 
What  sum  does  madame  devote  to  the  purchase  ?  " 


"] 


Turning  round  to  take  the  shawls  and  show  them, 
the  clerk  cast  a  significant  glance  ("  What  a  bore !  ") 
at  his  colleagues,  accompanied  by  an  almost  impercep- 
tible shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  These  are  our  finest  qualities  in  India  shawls, — 


362  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

reel,  blue,  and  the  yellow-orange  tint;  they  are  all  ten 
thousand  francs.  Here  are  some  at  five  thousand,  and 
we  have  others  at  three  thousand." 

The  Englishwoman,  with  an  expression  of  stolid 
indifference,  turned  her  eye-glass  on  all  around  her 
before  she  looked  at  the  shawls,  and  gave  no  sign  of 
approval  or  disapproval. 

"  Have  you  others?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  madame.  But  perhaps  madame  has  not  quite 
decided  that  she  wants  a  shawl  ?  " 

"Haw!  yes,  quite  decided." 

The  shopman  then  fetched  three  shawls  of  inferior 
value,  but  he  spread  them  forth  solemnly,  as  things  of 
which  to  say,  "  Attention  to  these  magnificences." 
Here  are  some  that  are  more  expensive,"  he  said. 

They  have  not  yet  been  offered  for  sale ;  they  came 
by  couriers  and  were  bought  direct  from  the  merchants 
of  Lahore." 

"  I  see,"  she  said.     "  They  suit  me  much  best." 

The  clerk  remained  perfectly  grave  in  spite  of  his 
inward  irritation,  which  now  began  to  attack  du 
Ronceret  and  Bixiou.  The  Englishwoman,  cold  as  a 
water-cress,  seemed  to  enjoy  her  own  phlegm. 

"What  price?"  she  said,  pointing  to  a  sky-blue 
shawl  covered  with  birds  sitting  on  pagodas. 

"  Seven  thousand  francs." 

She  took  the  shawl  and  wrapped  it  round  her,  looked 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  363 

at  herself  in  the  glass  and  said,  as  she  gave  it  back, 
"No,  I  don't  like  it," 

A  long  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  in  equally  fruitless 
essayals. 

"We  have  nothing  more,  madame,"  said  the  shop- 
man, looking  at  his  master. 

"  Madame  is  difficult  to  suit,  like  all  persons  of 
taste,"  said  the  head  of  the  establishment,  coming 
forward  with  that  shop-keeping  grace  which  agreeably 
mingles  wheedling  with  assumption. 

The  Englishwoman  took  up  her  eyeglass  and  looked 
the  merchant  over  from  head  to  foot,  unable,  of 
course,  to  comprehend  that  the  man  was  eligible  to 
the  Chamber  and  dined  at  the  Tuileries. 

"  I  have  but  one  other  shawl,  and  that  I  seldom 
show,"  he  continued;  "  no  one  has  ever  liked  it;  it  is 
very  odd;  only  this  morning  I  was  thinking  of 
giving  it  to  my  wife.  We  have  had  it  since  1805; 
it  came  from  the  Empress  Josephine." 

"  Show  it  to  me." 

"  Go  and  fetch  it,"  said  the  master  to  a  clerk;  "it 
is  in  my  house." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  it,"  said  the  Englishwoman. 

This  answer  was  to  a  certain  extent  a  triumph,  for 
the  peevish  dame  was  evidently  about  to  leave  the 
shop.  She  now  made  believe  to  look  only  at  the 
shawls,  whereas  she  was  really  looking  slyly  at   the 


364  Comedies  Played  Gratis, 

shopmen  and  the  two  gentlemen,  sheltering  her  eyes  by 
the  frame  of  her  glasses. 

"It  cost  originally  twenty  thousaud  francs  in  Tur- 
key, madame." 

"Haw!" 

"It  was  one  of  seven  shawls  sent  by  the  Sultan 
Selim  before  his  catastrophe  to  the  Emperor  Napoleon. 
The  Empress  Josephine  —  a  Creole,  as  my  lady  knows, 
and  therefore  capricious  —  changed  it  for  another  of 
those  brought  by  the  Turkish  ambassador,  which  my 
predecessor  had  in  the  meantime  purchased.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  recover  the  value  of  it,  for  in  France 
our  ladies  are  not  rich  enough;  it  is  not  as  it  is  in 
England.  The  price  of  this  shawl  is  seven  thousand 
francs,  but  its  value  is  more  than  double  if  you  take 
into  account  the  compound  interest  —  " 

"  Compounded  of  what?  "  said  the  Englishwoman. 

"Here  it  is,  madame." 

And  the  shopkeeper,  with  precautions  which  the 
exhibitors  of  the  Grune-gewcelbe  of  Dresden  would 
have  admired,  opened  with  a  tiny  key  a  square  box  of 
cedar  wood,  the  shape  and  simplicity  of  which  ap- 
peared to  impress  the  Englishwoman.  From  this  box, 
which  was  lined  with  black  satin,  he  lifted  a  shawl, 
worth  perhaps  fifteen  hundred  francs,  of  a  golden  yel- 
low with  black  designs,  the  startling  colors  being 
surpassed  only  by  the  fantastic  Oriental  figures. 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  365 

"  Splendid ! "  said  the  Englishwoman.  "It  is  really 
fine.  That  is  my  ideal  of  a  shawl;  it  is  very 
magnificent  —  " 

The  rest  of  her  remarks  were  lost  in  a  Madonna- 
like attitude  taken  to  show  off  her  cold  eyes,  which  she 
evidently  thought  handsome. 

"  The  Emperor  liked  that  shawl  very  much;  he  used 
it  himself  —  " 

"  Himself!  "  she  repeated. 

She  took  the  shawl,  draped  it  about  her,  and  exam- 
ined herself.  The  proprietor  then  took  the  shawl, 
carried  it  to  the  light,  handled  it,  shook  it,  made  it 
glisten;  in  short,  he  played  upon  it  as  Liszt  plays  on 
the  piano. 

"It  is  very  fine,  beautiful,  sweet!  "  said  the  Eng- 
lishwoman, with  a  cool  and  tranquil  air. 

Du  Ronceret,  Bixiou,  and  the  clerks  exchanged 
looks  of  satisfaction  which  signified,  "  The  shawl  is 
sold." 

"Well,  madame?"  said  the  shopkeeper  interroga- 
tively, seeing  the  Englishwoman  absorbed  in  a  sort  of 
contemplation  which  was  far  too  prolonged. 

Decidedly,"  she   said  at  last,    "  I   prefer   a  car- 


et 


riage." 


One  and  the  same  start  passed  through  the  silent, 
listening  clerks,  as  if  some  electric  fluid  had  touched 
them. 


366  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

"  I  have  a  very  fine  one,  madame,"  replied  the  mas- 
ter of  the  shop,  tranquilly.  "I  received  it  from  a 
Russian  princess  —  the  Princess  Narzikoff  —  who  left 
it  to  me  in  payment  of  her  bill.  If  madame  would 
like  to  see  it  she  would,  I  am  sure,  be  delighted  with 
it.  It  has  been  used  only  a  few  times;  there's  not 
another  like  it  in  Paris." 

The  stupefaction  of  the  clerks  was  equalled  only  by 
their  profound  admiration. 

"  I  will  see  it,"  she  replied. 

"  If  madame  will  wear  the  shawl,"  said  the  shop- 
keeper, "she  will  see  the  effect  in  the  carriage." 

He  went  to  get  his  hat  and  gloves. 

"  How  will  it  end?"  exclaimed  the  head-clerk  as 
he  watched  his  patron  handing  the  Englishwoman  into 
her  hired  carriage. 

The  matter  now  took  on  to  du  Ronceret  and  Bixiou 
the  attraction  of  the  end  of  a  novel,  besides  the 
especial  interest  attaching  to  all  struggles,  even  petty 
ones,  between  France  and  England. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  master  of  the  establish- 
ment returned. 

"Go  to  the  Hotel  Lawson,"  he  said  to  a  clerk; 
"  here  's  the  card:  Mrs.  Noswell.  Take  the  bill  I  will 
give  you;  you  have  six  thousand  francs  to  receive." 

"  But  how  did  you  do  it?  "  said  du  Ronceret,  bowing 
to  the  king  of  shopkeepers. 


Comedies  Played  Gratis.  367 

"  Eh!  monsieur,  I  saw  I  had  to  do  with  an  eccentric 
woman ;  she  likes  to  be  remarked  upon ;  when  she  saw 
that  everybody  we  passed  looked  at  that  shawl,  she 
said  to  me:  '  You  can  keep  your  carriage,  monsieur;  I 
decide  to  take  the  shawl.'  While  Monsieur  Bigor- 
neau,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  the  Byronic  clerk, 
"was  showing  her  the  shawls,  I  examined  my  lady; 
she  was  looking  askance  at  you  to  see  what  idea  you 
had  of  her;  her  mind  was  much  more  on  you  than  on 
the  shawls.  These  Englishwomen  have  a  peculiar 
distaste  —  for  I  can't  call  it  taste.  They  don't  know 
what  they  want,  and  some  chance  circumstance  will 
decide  them  to  take  a  thing  they  have  been  haggling 
over,  rather  than  their  own  will.  I  recognized  her  as 
one  of  those  women  bored  with  their  husbands  and 
babies,  regretfully  virtuous,  seeking  emotions,  and 
always  posing  as  weeping  willows." 

That  is  literally  what  the  head  of  that  establishment 
said. 

It  proves  that  while  in  other  lands  a  shopkeeper  may 
be  nothing  but  a  shopkeeper,  in  France,  and  above 
all  in  Paris,  he  may  be  a  college-bred  man,  educated, 
loving  either  the  arts,  or  sport,  or  the  theatre,  or 
consumed  with  a  desire  to  become  the  successor  of 
Monsieur  Cunin-Gridaine,  or  colonel  of  the  National 
guard,  or  member  of  the  Council  of  the  Seine,  or  judge 
of  the  Court  of  Commerce. 


368  Comedies  Played  Gratis. 

"Monsieur  Adolphe,"  said  the  wife  of  the  shop- 
keeper to  the  little  blond  clerk,  ''step  round  to  the 
cabinet-maker's  and  order  another  cedar-box." 

"And  now,"  said  the  head-clerk,  escorting  du 
Ronceret  and  Bixiou  to  the  door  after  they  had  selected 
a  shawl  for  Madame  Schontz,  "we  must  hunt  among 
our  old  shawls  for  another  that  can  play  the  part  of 
the  Selim  shawl." 


THE    END. 


BALZAC   IN   ENGLISH. 

— • — 

Fame  and   Sorrow, 

&trtJ  ©t!)cr  Stories. 

TRANSLATED   BY   KATHARINE   PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 

i2mo.  Half  Russia.  Uniform  with  our  edition  of  Balzac's 
Works.  Price,  $1.50.  In  addition  to  this  remarkable  story, 
the  volume  contains  the  following,  namely  :  "  Colonel  Chabert," 
"The  Atheist's  Mass,"  "  La  Grande  Breteche,"  "The  Purse,"  and 
"  La  Grenadiere." 

The  force  and  passion  of  the  stories  of  Balzac  are  unapproachable.  He  had 
the  art  of  putting  into  half  a  dozen  pages  all  the  fire  and  stress  which  many 
writers,  who  are  still  great,  cannot  compass  in  a  volume.  The  present  volume  is 
an  admirable  collection,  and  presents  well  his  power  of  handling  the  short  story. 
That  the  translation  is  excellent  need  hardly  be  said  —  Boston  Courier. 

The  six  stories,  admirably  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley,  afford  good  examples 
of  Balzac's  work  in  what  not  a  few  critics  have  thought  his  chief  specialty.  It  is 
certain  that  no  writer  of  many  novels  wrote  so  many  short  stories  as  he  ;  and  it  is 
equally  as  certain  that  his  short  stories  are,  almost  without  an  exception,  models 
of  what  such  compositions  ought  to  be.  .  .  No  modern  author,  however,  of  any 
school  whatever,  has  succeeded  in  producing  short  stories  half  so  good  as  Balzac's 
best.  Balzac  did  not,  indeed,  attempt  to  display  his  subtility  and  deftness  by 
writing  short  stories  about  nothing.  Every  one  of  his  tales  contains  an  episode, 
not  necessarily,  but  usually,  a  dramatic  episode  The  first  in  the  present  collec- 
tion, better  known  as  "La  Maison  du  Chat-qui-pelote,"  is  really  a  short  novel. 
It  has  all  the  machinery,  all  the  interest,  all  the  detail  of  a  regular  story.  The 
difference  is  that  it  is  compressed  as  Balzac  only  could  compress ;  that  here  and 
there  important  events,  changes,  etc.,  are  indicated  in  a  few  powerful  lines  instead 
of  being  elaborated;  that  the  vital  points  are  thrown  into  strong  relief.  Take  the 
pathetic  story  of  "Colonel  Chabert  "  It  begins  with  an  elaboration  of  detail. 
The  description  of  the  lawyer's  office  might  seem  to  some  too  minute.  But  it  is 
the  stage  upon  which  the  Colonel  is  to  appear,  and  when  he  enters  we  see  the 
value  of  the  preliminaries,  for  a  picture  is  presented  which  the  memory  seizes  and 
holds.  As  the  action  progresses,  detail  is  used  more  parsimoniously,  because  the 
mise-en-scene  has  already  been  completed,  and  because,  also,  the  characters  once 
clearly  described,  the  development  of  character  and  the  working  of  passion  can 
be  indicated  with  a  few  pregnant  strokes.  Notwithstanding  this  increasing 
economy  of  space,  the  action  takes  on  a  swifter  intensity,  and  the  culmination  of 
the  tragedy  leaves  the  reader  breathless. 

In  "The  Atheist's  Mass"  we  have  quite  a  new  kind  of  story  This  is  rather 
a  psychological  study  than  a  narrative  of  action.  Two  widely  distinguished  char» 
acters  are  thrown  on  the  canvas  here,  —  that  of  the  great  surgeon  and  that  of  the 
humble  patron ;  and  one  knows  not  which  most  to  admire,  the  vigor  of  the 
drawing,  or  the  subtle  and  lucid  psychical  analysis.  In  both  there  is  rare  beauty  of 
soul,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  the  poor  Auvergnat  surpasses  the  eminent  surgeon, 
though  this  is  a  delicate  and  difficult  question.  But  how  complete  the  little  story 
is ;  how  much  it  tells  ;  with  what  skill,  and  in  how  delightful  a  manner !  Then 
there  is  that  tremendous  haunting  legend  of  "  La  Grande  Breteche,"  a  story  which 
has  always  been  turned  into  more  languages  and  twisted  into  more  new  forms  than 
almost  any  other  of  its  kind  extant.  What  author  has  equalled  the  continuing 
horror  of  that  unfaithful  wife's  agony,  compelled  to  look  on  and  assist  at  the  slow 
murder  of  her  entrapped  lover?  .  .  Then  the  death  of  the  husband  and  wife,  — 
the  one  by  quick  and  fiercer  dissipation,  the  other  by  simple  refusal  to  live  longer, 
—  and  the  abandonment  of  the  accursed  dwelling  to  solitude  and  decay,  complete 
a  picture,  which  for  vividness,  emotional  force,  imaginative  power,  and  compre- 
hensiveness of  effects,  can  be  said  to  have  few  equals  in  its  own  class  of  fiction.  — 
Kansas  City  Journal. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 
Vie  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


BALZAC  IN  ENGLISH. 


An  Historical  Mystery. 

Translated  by  KATHARINE  PRESCOTT  WORMELEY. 
12mo.    Half  Russia.    Uniform  with  Balzac's  Works.    Price,  $1.50. 


An  Historical  Mystery  is  the  title  given  to  "  Une  Tenebreuse  Affaire,"  which 
has  just  appeared  in  the  series  of  translations  of  Honore  de  Balzac's  novels,  by 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley  This  exciting  romance  is  full  of  stirring  interest, 
and  is  distinguished  by  that  minute  analysis  of  character  in  which  its  eminent 
author  excelled.  The  characters  stand  boldly  out  from  the  surrounding  incidents, 
and  with  a  fidelity  as  wonderful  as  it  is  truthful.  Plot  and  counterplot  follow 
each  other  with  marvellous  rapidity;  and  around  the  exciting  days  when  Na- 
poleon was  First  Consul,  and  afterward  when  he  was  Emperor,  a  mystery  is 
woven  in  which  some  royalists  are  concerned  that  is  concealed  with  masterly 
ingenuity  until  the  novelist  sees  fit  to  take  his  reader  into  his  confidence.  The 
heroine,  Laurence,  is  a  remarkably  strong  character;  and  the  love-story  in  which 
she  figures  is  refreshing  in  its  departure  from  the  beaten  path  of  the  ordinary 
writer  of  fiction.  Michu,  her  devoted  servant,  has  also  a  marked  individuality, 
which  leaves  a  lasting  impression.  Napoleon,  Talleyrand,  Fouche,  and  other 
historical  personages,  appear  in  the  tale  in  a  manner  that  is  at  once  natural  and 
impressive.  As  an  addition  to  a  remarkable  series,  the  book  is  one  that  no 
admirer  of  Balzac  can  afford  to  neglect.  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  reproduces 
the  peculiarities  of  the  author's  style  with  the  faithfulness  for  which  she  has 
hitherto  been  celebrated. — Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

It  makes  very  interesting  reading  at  this  distance  of  time,  however;  and  Balzac 
has  given  to  the  legendary  account  much  of  the  solidity  of  history  by  his  adroit 
manipulation.  For  the  main  story  it  must  be  said  that  the  action  is  swifter  and 
more  varied  than  in  many  of  the  author's  books,  and  that  there  are  not  wanting 
many  of  those  cameo-like  portraits  necessary  to  warn  the  reader  against  slovenly 
perusal  of  this  carefully  written  story;  for  the  complications  are  such,  and  the  re- 
lations between  the  several  plots  involved  so  intricate,  that  the  thread  might 
easily  be  lost  and  much  of  the  interest  be  thus  destroyed  The  usual  Balzac 
compactness  is  of  course  present  throughout,  to  give  body  and  significance  to  the 
work,  and  the  stage  is  crowded  with  impressive  figures.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  find  a  book  which  gives  a  better  or  more  faithful  illustration  of  one  of  the 
strangest  periods  in  French  history,  in  short ;  and  its  attraction  as  a  story  is  at 
least  equalled  by  its  value  as  a  true  picture  of  the  time  it  is  concerned  with.  The 
translation  is  as  spirited  and  close  as  Miss  Wormeley  has  taught  us  to  expect  in 
this  admirable  series.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

One  of  the  most  intensely  interesting  novels  that  Balzac  ever  wrote  is  An 
Historical  Mystery,  whose  translation  has  just  been  added  to  the  preceding 
novels  that  compose  the  "Comedie  Humaine  "  so  admirably  translated  by  Miss 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.  The  story  opens  in  the  autumn  of  1803,  in  the 
time  of  the  Empire,  and  the  motive  is  in  deep-laid  political  plots,  which  are  re- 
vealed with  the  subtle  and  ingenious  skill  that  marks  the  art  of  Balzac.  .  .  The 
story  is  a  deep-laid  political  conspiracy  of  the  secret  service  of  the  ministry  of 
the  police.  Talleyrand,  M'lle  de  Cinq-Cygne,  the  Princess  de  Cadigan,  Louis 
XVII L,  as  well  as  Napoleon,  figure  as  characters  of  this  thrilling  historic  ro- 
mance. An  absorbing  love-story  is  also  told,  in  which  State  intrigue  plays  an 
important  part.  The  character-drawing  is  faithful  to  history,  and  the  story  illu- 
minates French  life  in  the  early  years  of  the  century  as  if  a  calcium  light  were 
thrown  on  the  scene. 

It  is  a  romance  of  remarkable  power  and  one  of  the  most  deeply  fascinating 
of  all  the  novels  of  the  ''  Comedie  Humaine." 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,   Boston. 


Balzac  in  English. 


Albert    Savarus,    with    Paz   (La    Fausse 
Maitresse)  and   Madame  Firmiani.    By 

Honore  de  Balzac.     Translated   by  Katharine  Prescott 
Wormeley. 

There  is  much  in  this,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  books, 
which  is  synonymous  with  Balzac's  own  life.  It  is  the  story  of  a  man's 
£rst  love  for  woman,  his  inspirer,  the  source  from  whom  he  derives 
his  power  of  action.  It  also  contains  many  details  on  his  habits  of 
life  and  work. 

The  three  short  stories  in  this  volume,— '  Albert  Savarus,'  'Paz'  and  'Madame 
Firmiani ' — are  chips  from  that  astounding  workshop  which  never  ceased  its  Hephces- 
tian  labors  and  products  until  Balzac  was  no  more  Short  stories  of  this  character 
flew  from  his  glowing  forge  like  sparks  from  an  anvil,  the  playthings  of  an  idle  hour, 
the  interludes  of  a  more  vivid  drama.  Three  of  them  gathered  here  illustrate  as 
usual  Parisian  and  provincial  life,  two  in  a  very  noble  fashion,  Balzacian  to  the  core. 
The  third  —  'Albert  Savarus'— has  many  elements  of  tragedy  and  grandeur  in  it, 
spoiled  only  by  an  abruptness  in  the  conclusion  and  an  accumulation  of  unnecessary 
horrors  that  chill  the  reader.     It  is  a  block  of  tragic  marble  hewn,  not  to  a  finish,  but 

to  a  fine  prophetic  suggestion  of  what  is  to  follow  if !     The  if  never  emerges 

from  conditionality  tofulfilment.  The  beautiful  lines  and  sinuous  curves  of  the 
nascent  statue  are  there,  not  fully  born  of  the  encasing  stone  ;  what  sculptors  call  the 
'tenons'  show  in  all  their  visibility  —  the  supports  and  scaffoldings  reveal  their 
presence  ;  the  forefront  is  finished  as  in  a  Greek  metope  or  Olympian  tympanum, 
where  broken  Lapiths  and  Centaurs  disport  themselves;  but  the  background  is  rude 
and  primitive. 

In  '  Madame  Firmiani '  a  few  brilliant  pages  suffice  to  a  perfect  picture, —  one  of 
the  few  spotless  pictures  of  this  superb  yet  sinning  magician  so  rich  in  pictures.  It  is 
French  nature  that  Balzac  depicts,  warm  with  all  the  physical  impulses,  undisguised 
in  its  assaults  on  the  soul,  ingeniously  sensual,  odiously  loose  in  its  views  of  marriage 
and  the  marriage  relation,  but  splendidly  picturesque.  In  this  brief  romance  noble 
words  are  wedded  to  noble  music.  In  '  Paz  '  an  almost  equal  nobility  of  thought  — 
the  nobility  of  self-renunciation — is  attained.  Balzac  endows  his  men  and  women 
with  happy  millions  and  unhappy  natures:  the  red  ruby  —  the  broken  heart — blazes 
in  a  setting  of  gold.  '  Paz,'  the  sublime  Pole  who  loves  the  wife  of  his  best  friend, 
a  Slav  Croesus,  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The  richest  rhetoric,  the  sunniest  colors, 
fail  to  counteract  the  Acherontian  gloom  of  these  lives  and  sorrows  snatched  from  the 
cauldron  of  urban  and  rural  France,  —  a  cauldron  that  burns  hotter  than  any  other 
with  its  strange  Roman  and  Celtic  ardors.  Balzac  was  perpetually  dipping  into  it  and 
drawing  from  it  the  wonderful  and  extraordinary  incidents  of  his  novels,  incidents  often 
monstrous  in  their  untruth  if  looked  at  from  any  other  than  a  French  point  of  view. 
Thus,  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  the  jealous  woman  in  '  Albert  Savarus'  would  seem 
unnatural  anywhere  else  than  in  the  sombre  French  provinces  of  1836, —  a  toadstool 
sprung  up  in  the  rank  moonlight  of  the  religious  conventual  system  of  education  for 
women  ;  but  there,  and  then,  and  as  one  result  of  this  system  of  repression,  it 
seems  perfectly  natural.  And  so  does  the  beautiful  self-abnegation  of  Albert  himself, 
that  high-strung  soul  that  could  have  been  born  only  in  nervous  and  passionate 
France. 

As  usual.  Miss  Wormeley's  charming  translation  floats  the  reader  over  these 
pages  in  the  swiftest  and  airiest  manner.  —  The  Critic. 

One  handsome  i2mo  volume,  uniform  with  "  Pere  Goriot,"  "  The 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  "  Cesar  Birotteau,"  "  Eugenie  Grandet," 
"  Cousin  Pons,"  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "  The  Two  Brothers,"  and 
"The  Alkahest."     Half  morocco,  French  style.     Price,  $1.50. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  HONORE  DE  BALZAC. 


Compiled  and  written  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley,  translator 
of  Balzac's  works.  With  portrait  of  Balzac,  taken  one  hour  after 
death,  by  Eugene  Giraud,  "and  a  Sketch  of  the  Prison  of  the  College 
de  Vendome.  One  volume,  i2mo.  Half  Russia,  uniform  with  our 
edition  of  Balzac's  works.     Price,  §1.50. 

A  complete  life  of  Balzac  can  probably  never  be  written.  The  sole  object  of 
the  present  volume  is  to  present  Balzac  to  American  readers.  This  memoir  is 
meant  to  be  a  presentation  of  the  man,  —  and  not  of  his  work,  except  as  it  was  a 
part  of  himself,  —  derived  from  authentic  sources  of  information,  and  presented  in 
their  own  words,  with  such  simple  elucidations  as  a  close  intercourse  with  Balzac's 
mind,  necessitated  by  conscientious  translation,  naturally  gives.  The  portrait 
in  this  volume  was  considered  by  Madame  de  Balzac  the  best  likeness  of  her 
husband. 

Miss  Wormeley's  discussion  of  the  subject  is  of  value  in  many  ways,  and  it  ha« 
long  been  needed  as  a  help  to  comprehension  of  his  life  and  character.  Person- 
ally, he  lived  up  to  his  theory.  His  life  was  in  fact  austere.  Any  detailed  ac- 
count of  the  conditions  under  which  he  worked,  such  as  are  given  in  this  volume, 
will  show  that  this  must  have  been  the  case ;  and  the  fact  strongly  reinforces  the 
doctrine.  Miss  Wormeley,  in  arranging  her  account  of  his  career,  has,  almost 
of  necessity,  made  free  use  of  the  letters  and  memoir  published  by  Balzac's  sister, 
Madame  Surville.  She  has  also,  whenever  it  would  serve  the  purpose  of  illus- 
tration better,  quoted  from  the  sketches  of  him  by  his  contemporaries,  wisely 
rejecting  the  trivialities  and  frivolities  by  the  exaggeration  of  which  many  of  his 
first  chroniclers  seemed  bent  upon  giving  the. great  author  a  kind  of  opera-bouffe 
aspect.  To  judge  from  some  of  these  accounts,  he  was  flighty,  irresponsible, 
possibly  a  little  mad,  prone  to  lose  touch  of  actualities  by  the  dominance  of  his 
imagination,  fond  of  wild  and  impracticable  schemes,  and  altogether  an  eccentric 
and  unstable  person.  But  it  is  not  difficult  to  prove  that  Balzac  was  quite  a 
different  character  ;  that  he  possessed  a  marvellous  power  of  intellectual  organi- 
zation ;  that  he  was  the  most  methodical  and  indefatigable  of  workers;  that  he 
was  a  man  of  a  most  delicate  sense  of  honor;  that  his  life  was  not  simply  de- 
voted to  literary  ambition,  but  was  a  martyrdom  to  obligations  which  were  his 
misfortune,  but  not  his  fault. 

All  this  Miss  Wormley  has  well  set  forth  ;  and  in  doing  so  she  has  certainly 
relieved  Balzac  of  much  unmerited  odium,  and  has  enabled  those  who  have  not 
made  a  study  of  his  character  and  work  to  understand  how  high  the  place  is  in 
any  estimate  of  the  helpers  of  modern  progress  and  enlightenment  to  which  his 
genius  and  the  loftiness  of  his  aims  entitle  him.  This  memoir  is  a  very  modest 
biography,  though  a  very  good  one.  The  author  has  effaced  herself  as  much  as 
possible,  and  has  relied  upon  "  documents  "  whenever  they  were  trustworthy.  — 
N.  Y.  Tribune. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.    Mailed,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston, 


Balzac  tn  English. 


PIERRETTE 


AND 


The  Vicar    ok   Tours. 

BY   HONORE   DE   BALZAC. 
Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley. 


In  Pierrette,  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  added  to  her  series  of  felicitous 
translations  from  the  French  master-fictionists,  Balzac  has  made  within 
brief  compass  a  marvellously  sympathetic  study  of  the  martyrdom  of  a 
young  girl.  Pierrette,  a  flower  of  Brittany,  beautiful,  pale,  and  fair  and 
sweet,  is  taken  as  an  undesired  charge  by  sordid-minded  cousins  in  Pro- 
vins,  and  like  an  exotic  transplanted  into  a  harsh  and  sour  so»l  she  withers 
and  fades  under  the  cruel  conditions  of  her  new  environment.  Inciden- 
tally Balzac  depicts  in  vivid  colors  the  struggles  of  two  shop-keepers  —  a 
brother  and  sister,  who  have  amassed  a  little  fortune  in  Paris  —  to  gain  a 
foothold  among  the  bourgeoisie  of  their  native  town.  These  two  become 
the  prey  of  conspirators  for  political  advancement,  and  the  rivalries  thus 
engendered  shake  the  small  provincial  society  to  its  centre.  Put  the 
charm  of  the  tale  is  in  the  portrayal  of  the  character  of  Pierretle,  who 
understands  only  how  to  love,  and  who  cannot  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
suspicion  and  ill-treatment.  The  story  is  of  course  sad,  but  its  fidelity  to 
life  and  the  pathos  of  it  are  elements  of  unfailing  interest.  Balzac  brings 
a  score  or  more  of  people  upon  the  stage,  shows  each  one  as  he  or  she 
really  is  both  in  outward  appearance  and  inward  nature,  and  then  allows 
motives  and  circumstances  to  work  out  an  inevitable  result.  To  watch 
this  process  is  like  being  present  at  some  wonderful  chemical  experiment 
where  the  ingredients  are  mixed  with  a  deft  and  careful  hand,  and  combine 
to  produce  effects  of  astonishing  significance.  The  social  genesis  of  the 
old  maid  in  her  most  abhorrent  form  occupies  much  of  Balzac's  attention 
in  Pierrette,  and  this  theme  also  has  a  place  in  the  story  of  The  Vicar  of 
Tours,  bound  up  in  this  same  volume.  The  vicar  is  a  simple-minded 
priest  who  is  happy  enough  till  he  takes  up  his  quarters  with  an  old  maid 
landlady,  who  pesters  and  annoys  him  in  many  ways,  and  finally  sends  him 
forth  despoiled  of  his  worldly  goods  and  a  laughing-stock  for  the  country- 
side. There  is  a  great  deal  of  humor  in  the  tale,  but  one  must  confess 
that  the  humor  is  of  a  rather  heavy  sort,  it  being  weighed  down  by  a  domi- 
nant satirical  purpose.  —  The  Beacon. 

One  handsome  i2mo  volume,  uniform  with  "  Pere  Goriot," 
"  The  Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  "  Cesar  Birotteau,"  "  Eugenie 
Grandet,"  "  Cousin  Pons,"  "  The  Country  Doctor,"  "  The  Twa 
Brothers."  and  "  The  Alkahest."  Half  morocco,  French  style 
Price,  $1.50. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications, 


BALZAC   IN   ENGLISH. 


Lost  Illusions :  The  Two  Poets,  anil  Eve  end  Davii 

By   HONORE   DE   BALZAC. 

Being  the  twenty-third  volume  of  Miss  Wormeley's  translation  of 
Balzac's  novels.     i2mo.     Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 

For  her  latest  translation  of  the  Balzac  fiction  cycle,  Miss  Wormeley  gives  us 
the  first  and  third  parts  of  "Illusion  Perdue,"  under  the  caption  of  "Lost 
Illusions,"  namely,  "The  Two  Poets"  and  "Eve  and  David."  This  arrange- 
ment is  no  doubt  a  good  one,  for  the  readers  are  thus  enabled  to  follow  the  consecu- 
tive fortunes  of  the  Angouleme  folk,  while  the  adventures  of  Eve's  poet-brother, 
Lucien,  which  occur  in  Paris  and  make  a  tale  by  themselves,  are  thus  left  for  a 
separate  publication.  The  novel,  as  we  have  it,  then,  belongs  to  the  category  of 
those  scenes  from  provincial  life  which  Balzac  found  so  stimulating  to  his  genius. 
This  story,  certainly,  in  some  respects  takes  high  rank  among  them.  The 
character-drawing  is  fine:  Lucien,  the  ambitious,  handsome,  weak-willed,  selfish, 
and  easily-sinning  young  bourgeois,  is  contrasted  with  David, —  a  touching  picture 
of  the  struggling  inventor,  born  of  the  people  and  sublimely  one-purposed  and 
pure  in  his  life.  Eve,  the  type  of  a  faithful  large-brained  and  larger-hearted  wife, 
who  supports  her  husband  through  all  his  hardships  with  unfaltering  courage  and 
kindness,  is  another  noble  creation.  David  inherits  a  poorish  printing  business 
from  his  skin-flint  of  a  father,  neglects  it  while  devoting  all  his  time  and  energy  to 
his  discovery  of  an  improved  method  of  making  paper ;  and  through  the  evil 
machinations  of  the  rival  printing  firm  of  the  Cointets,  as  well  as  the  debts  foisted 
on  him  by  Lucien  in  Paris,  he  is  brought  into  money  difficulties  and  even  into 
prison.  But  his  invention,  although  sold  at  a  sacrifice  to  the  cunning  Cointets, 
gets  him  out  of  the  hole  at  last,  and  he  and  his  good  wife  retire  on  a  comfortable 
competency,  which  is  augmented  at  the  death  of  his  father  into  a  good-sized 
fortune.  The  seamy  side  of  law  in  the  provinces  is  shown  up  in  Balzac's  keen, 
inimitable  way  in  the  description  of  the  winding  of  the  coils  around  the  unsuspect- 
ing David  and  the  depiction  of  such  men  as  the  brothers  Cointets  and  the  shrewd 
little  petifogging  rascal,  Petit  Claud.  The  pictures  of  Angouleme  aristocratic 
circles,  too,  with  Lucien  as  high  priest,  are  vivacious,  and  show  the  novelist's 
wonderful  observation  in  all  ranks  of  life.  The  bit  of  wild  romance  by  which 
Lucien  becomes  the  secretary  of  a  Spanish  grandee  lends  a  fairy-tale  flavor  to  tne 
main  episodes.  Balzac,  in  whom  is  united  the  most  lynx-eyed  realism  and  the 
most  extravagant  romanticism,  is  ever  and  always  one  of  the  great  masters  in 
fiction  of  our  century. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  oil  receipt  of 
the  price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,    Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publicatioiis. 


BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


A  Great  Mm  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris, 

By   HONORE    DE    BALZAC. 

Being  the  second  part  of  "  Lost  Illusions."     Translated  by  Kath- 
arine Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo.     Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 

We  are  beginning  to  look  forward  to  the  new  translations  of  Balzac  by  Katha- 
rine Wormeley  almost  as  eagerly  as  to  the  new  works  of  the  best  contemporary 
writers.  But,  unlike  the  writings  of  most  novelists,  Balzac's  novels  cannot  be 
judged  separately.  They  belong  together,  and  it  is  impossible  to  understand  the 
breadth  and  depth  of  the  great  writer's  insight  into  human  life  by  reading  any 
one  volume  of  this  remarkable  series.  For  instance,  we  rise  from  the  reading  of 
this  last  volume  feeling  as  if  there  was  nothing  high  or  noble  or  pure  in  life.  But 
what  would  be  more  untrue  than  to  fancy  that  Balzac  was  unable  to  appreciate 
the  true  and  the  good  and  the  beautiful  !  Compare  "  The  Lily  of  the  Valley  " 
or  "Seraphita"  or  "Louis  Lambert"  with  "The  Duchesse  of  Langeais"  and 
"  Cousin  Bette,"  and  then  perhaps  the  reader  will  be  able  to  criticise  Balzac  with 
some  sort  of  justice.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

Balzac  paints  the  terrible  verities  of  life  with  an  inexorable  hand.  The  siren 
charms,  the  music  and  lights,  the  feast  and  the  dance,  are  presented  in  voluptu- 
ous colors —  but  read  to  the  end  of  the  book!  There  are  depicted  with  equal 
truthfulness  the  deplorable  consequences  of  weakness  and  crime.  Some  have 
read  Balzac's  "Cousin  Bette"  and  have  pronounced  him  immoral;  but  when 
the  last  chapter  of  any  of  his  novels  is  read,  the  purpose  of  the  whole  is  clear,  and 
immorality  cannot  be  alleged.  Balzac  presents  life.  His  novels  are  as  truthful 
as  they  are  terrible.  —  Springfield  Union. 

Admirers  of  Balzac  will  doubtless  enjoy  the  mingled  sarcasm  and  keen  analy- 
sis of  human  nature  displayed  in  the  present  volume,  brought  out  with  even  more 
than  the  usual  amount  of  the  skill  and  energy  characteristic  of  the  author.  — 
Pittsburgh  Post. 

The  art  of  Balzac,  the  wonderful  power  of  his  contrast,  the  depth  of  his 
knowledge  of  life  and  men  and  things,  this  tremendous  story  illustrates.  How 
admirably  the  rise  of  the  poet  is  traced  ;  the  cresce?ido  is  perfect  in  gradation,  yet 
as  inexorable  as  fate!  As  for  the  fall,  the  effect  is  more  depressing  than  a 
personal  catastrophe.  This  is  a  book  to  read  over  and  over,  an  epic  of  life  in 
prose,  more  tremendous  than  the  blank  verse  of  "  Paradise  Lost "  or  the 
"Divine  Comedy.''  Miss  Wormeley  and  the  publishers  deserve  not  congratula- 
tions alone,  but  thanks  for  adding  this  book  and  its  predecessor,  "  Lost  Illusions," 
to  the  literature  of  English.  —  San  Francisco  Wave. 


Sold   by    all    booksellers.      Mailed,   post-paid,    by    the 
Publishers , 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


BALZAC    IN    ENGLISH. 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  CONSOLATION. 

(L'ENVERS  DE   L'HISIOIRE   CQNTEMPORAINE.) 

By   HONORE   DE   BALZAC. 

i.  Madame  de  la  Chanterie.  2.  The  Initiate.  Translated  by 
Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.  i2mo.  Half  Russia.  Price, 
$1.50. 

There  is  no  book  of  Balzac  which  is  informed  by  a  loftier  spirit  than 
"  L'Envers  de  l'Histoire  Contemporaine,"  which  has  just  been  added  by  Miss 
Wormeley  to  her  admirable  series  of  translations  under  the  title,  "  The  Brother- 
hood of  Consolation."  The  title  which  is  given  to  the  translation  is,  to  our 
thinking,  a  happier  one  than  that  which  the  work  bears  in  the  original,  since,  after 
all,  the  political  and  historical  portions  of  the  book  are  only  the  background  of  the 
other  and  more  absorbing  theme,  —  the  development  of  the  brotherhood  over 
which  Madame  de  la  Chanterie  presided.  It  is  true  that  there  is  about  it  all 
something  theatrical,  something  which  shows  the  French  taste  for  making  godli- 
ness itself  histrionically  effective,  that  quality  of  mind  which  would  lead  a  Parisian 
to  criticise  the  coming  of  the  judgment  angels  if  their  entrance  were  not  happily 
arranged  and  properly  executed  ;  but  in  spite  of  this  there  is  an  elevation  such  as 
it  is  rare  to  meet  with  in  literature,  and  especially  in  the  literature  of  Balzac's  age 
and  land.  The  story  is  admirably  told,  and  the  figure  of  the  Baron  Bourlac  is 
really  noble  in  its  martyrdom  of  self-denial  and  heroic  patience.  The  picture  of 
the  Jewish  doctor  is  a  most  characteristic  piece  of  work,  and  shows  Balzac's 
intimate  touch  in  every  line.  Balzac  was  always  attracted  by  the  mystical  side 
of  the  physical  nature  ;  and  it  might  almost  be  said  that  everything  that  savored 
of  mystery,  even  though  it  ran  obviously  into  quackery,  had  a  strong  attraction 
for  him.  He  pictures  Halpersohn  with  a  few  strokes,  but  his  picture  of  him  has 
a  striking  vitality  and  reality.  The  volume  is  a  valuable  and  attractive  addition  to 
the  series  to  which  it  belongs ;  and  the  series  comes  as  near  to  fulfilling  the  ideal 
of  what  translations  should  be  as  is  often  granted  to  earthly  things.  —  Boston 
Courier. 

The  book,  which  is  one  of  rare  charm,  is  one  of  the  most  refined,  while  at  the 
same  time  tragic,  of  all  his  works.  —  Public  Opinion. 

His  present  work  is  a  fiction  beautiful  in  its  conception,  just  one  of  those 
practical  ideals  which  Balzac  nourished  and  believed  in.  There  never  was  greater 
homage  than  he  pays  to  the  book  of  books,  "  The  Imitation  of  Jesus  Christ." 
Miss  Wormeley  has  here  accomplished  her  work  just  as  cleverly  as  in  her  other 
volumes  of  Balzac.  —  N.  Y.  Times. 


Sold  by   all    booksellers.      Mailed,    post-paid,    by    the 
Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,   Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

m  •  •   — .i    i   ■        .  ■  -  ,  -■■■      .-jtf 

THE  VILLAGE  RECTOR. 

By  Honore  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


Once  more  that  wonderful  acquaintance  which  Balzac  had  with  all  callings 
appears  manifest  in  this  work.  Would  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  engineer's 
occupation  in  France  ?  Balzac  presents  it  in  the  whole  system,  with  its  aspects, 
disadvantages,  and  the  excellence  of  the  work  accomplished.  We  write  to-day 
of  irrigation  and  of  arboriculture  as  if  they  were  novelties  ;  yet  in  the  waste  lands 
of  Montagnac,  Balzac  found  these  topics  ;  and  what  he  wrote  is  the  clearest 
exposition  of  the  subjects. 

But,  above  all,  in  "The  Village  Rector"  is  found  the  most  potent  of  religious 
ideas,  —  the  one  that  God  grants  pardon  to  sinners.  Balzac  had  studied  and 
appreciated  the  intensely  human  side  of  Catholicism  and  its  adaptiveness  to  the 
wants  of  mankind.  It  is  religion,  with  Balzac,  "  that  opens  to  us  an  inexhaustible 
treasure  of  indulgence."     It  is  true  repentance  that  saves. 

The  drama  which  is  unrolled  in  "The  Village  Rector  "  is  a  terrible  one,  and 
perhaps  repugnant  to  our  sensitive  minds.  The  selection  of  such  a  plot,  pitiless 
as  it  is,  Balzac  made  so  as  to  present  the  darkest  side  of  human  nature,  and  to 
show  how,  through  God's  pity,  a  soul  might  be  saved.  The  instrument  of  mercy 
is  the  Rector  Bonnet,  and  in  the  chapter  entitled  "  The  Rector  at  Work  "  he 
shows  how  religion  "  extends  a  man's  life  beyond  the  world."  It  is  not  sufficient 
to  weep  and  moan.  "That  is  but  the  beginning;  the  end  is  action."  Th$ 
rector  urges  the  woman  whose  sins  are  great  to  devote  what  remains  of  her  lifo 
to  work  for  the  benefit  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  and  so  she  sets  about  reclaim- 
ing the  waste  lands  which  surround  her  chateau.  With  a  talent  of  a  superlative 
order,  which  gives  grace  to  Veronique,  she  is  like  the  Madonna  of  some  old  panel 
of  Van  Eyck's  Doing  penance,  she  wears  close  to  her  tender  skin  a  haircloth 
vestment  For  love  of  her,  a  man  has  committed  murder  and  died  and  kept  his 
secret.  In  her  youth,  Veronique's  face  had  been  pitted,  but  her  saintly  life  had 
obliterated  that  spotted  mantle  of  smallpox.  Tears  had  washed  out  every  blemish. 
If  through  true  repentance  a  soul  was  ever  saved,  it  was  Veronique's.  This 
work,  too,  has  afforded  consolation  to  many  miserable  sinners,  and  showed  them 
the  way  to  grace. 

The  present  translation  is  to  be  cited  for  its  wonderful  accuracy  and  its  literary 
distinction.  We  can  hardly  think  of  a  more  difficult  task  than  the  Englishing  of 
Balzac,  and  a  general  reading  public  should  be  grateful  for  the  admirable  manner 
in  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  performed  her  task.  — New  York  Times. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   Boston,  Mass. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


SMjac  in  <£ngli£fj. 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

By  Honore  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


"There  are,"  says  Henry  James  in  one  of  his  essays,  "two  writers  In 
Balzac, — the  spontaneous  one  and  the  reflective  one,  the  former  of 
which  is  much  the  more  delightful,  while  the  latter  is  the  more  extraordi- 
nary." It  is  the  reflective  Balzac,  the  Balzac  with  a  theory,  whom  we 
get  in  the  "Deux  Jeunes  Mariees,"  now  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley 
under  the  title  of  "  Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women."  The 
theory  of  Balzac  is  that  the  marriage  of  convenience,  properly  regarded, 
is  far  preferable  to  the  marriage  simply  from  love,  and  he  undertakes  to 
prove  this  proposition  by  contrasting  the  careers  of  two  young  girls  who 
have  been  fellow-students  at  a  convent.  One  of  them,  the  ardent  and 
passionate  Louise  de  Chaulieu,  has  an  intrigue  with  a  Spanish  refugee, 
finally  marries  him,  kills  him,  as  she  herself  confesses,  by  her  perpetual 
jealousy  and  exaction,  mourns  his  loss  bitterly,  then  marries  a  golden- 
haired  youth,  lives  with  him  in  a  dream  of  ecstasy  for  a  year  or  so,  and 
this  time  kills  herself  through  jealousy  wrongfully  inspired.  As  for  het 
friend,  Renee  de  Maucombe,  she  dutifully  makes  a  marriage  to  please  her 
parents,  calculates  coolly  beforehand  how  many  children  she  will  have  and 
how  they  shall  be  trained ;  insists,  however,  that  the  marriage  shall  be 
merely  a  civil  contract  till  she  and  her  husband  find  that  their  hearts  are 
indeed  one ;  and  sees  all  her  brightest  visions  realized,  —  her  Louis  an 
ambitious  man  for  her  sake  and  her  children  truly  adorable  creatures. 
The  story,  which  is  told  in  the  form  of  letters,  fairly  scintillates  with 
brilliant  sayings,  and  is  filled  with  eloquent  discourses  concerning  the 
nature  of  love,  conjugal  and  otherwise.  Louise  and  Renee  are  both 
extremely  sophisticated  young  women,  even  in  their  teens  ;  and  those 
who  expect  to  find  in  their  letters  the  demure  innocence  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  type  will  be  somewhat  astonished.  The  translation,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  rather  a  daring  attempt,  but  it  has  been  most  felicit- 
ously done.  —  The  Beacon. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston.  Mass. 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 

University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 


4 


ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(415)642-6233 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


OCX  2  5  1989 

_- u* 

MAR  C      -  -•:> 

■■■'  ' ■  ~ ~     '  ■■■',.' i  ■ 


J  J 


YB  545 


796236 


YV 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORN1A  LIBRARY 


1  \)  - 


:t£^ 


Z'f     ~3^^^H 


A-,, 


r*t 


*  > 


%?-,#.    I        •   .    ;       . 


^H 


